


The Sorceress's Pyre

by NorthernSoulPie



Category: Neverwinter Nights, Neverwinter Nights 2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-04 12:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 48,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4137732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernSoulPie/pseuds/NorthernSoulPie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sarina Farlong leaves her home to try to save it from the terrible creatures that hunt her, she didn't realise how much she’d come to rely on the friends she’d make along the way. NWN2 OC with extra banter. Later KC x Casavir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sword Mountains

More fucking Orcs, brilliant. Just what they needed after trekking all day through the mountains. The emissary from Waterdeep had sure picked a good place to get lost in, locating him was going to be like finding a needle in a Haystack. If he was even still alive that was, chances were he was already settling in nicely with Kelemvor up on the Fugue Plane. They had already found what was left of his guard earlier on the trail out of Old Owl Well, their skull’s smashed open by countless clubs and fists and the horses taken for meat.

 Few civil folk lived up in the Sword Mountains; it was a barren and dangerous landscape, mainly inhabited by warring Orc factions, tribes of carnivorous Ice Giants, even dragons it was rumoured, if one went high enough. It was entirely absurd that the ambassador from Waterdeep had been sent to Neverwinter along this route, rather than the much shorter, and safer, journey by sea.

Still, orders were orders, and Captain Brelaina did not seem like the type of woman who liked be kept waiting by her subordinates.

 

 

 

The Orcs were closing in fast, battle ready and mortal fear lost in the face of ‘non Orcs’ in their territory. Contrary to popular belief, the Orcs were generally not much less intelligent than your average peasant farmer. The most intelligent ones would often become tribe leaders, and were more than capable of strategizing cunning battle plans, and rapidly expanding their tribe’s territories. The Orcs knew their strength lay in sheer numbers, and anyone unlucky enough to have to travel these parts would often find themselves overcome by the number camped out along the rocky paths. Sending the emissary via this route had been a stunningly bad idea indeed.

Fire crackled between her fingers, glowing brightly as it weaved its way up her thin arms; hot but never burning. Seeing the Orcs begin their unknowing death march towards them, had a sickening thrill light her belly. Sarina Farlong didn't savour battle, didn't take any form of joy from killing enemies, but there was no denying it excited her. Anyone who thought battle lust wasn’t addictive had obviously never been in a fight to the death before. It was exhausting, messy, sometimes even guilt-ridden, but damn if it wasn’t exhilarating. And besides, she never attacked unless provoked… well sometimes she did… but only when talking failed and they really deserved it.

It was worlds away from the quiet village life she had always known, but whether that was a good thing or not, she hadn't quite decided yet. The exhilarating feeling did make one fact abundantly clear, West Harbour could never be home again.

 

 

 

 

 

She gave a loud groan before re-checking the rough map Callum had drawn them earlier in the day. How Callum had organised the Greycloaks so effectively, using only the meagre supplies and men Neverwinter had sent was testament to the Dwarf's considerable talent as a leader. The Greycloaks were locked in a seemingly endless clash with the Orc tribes over Old Owl Well, the only source of water for the entire region. They had been forced to take in many green recruits from nearby villages and homesteads to bolster troop numbers. Yet the Greycloaks had retained a fearsome reputation in these parts. And that reputation was all thanks to the villager's steadfast refusal to surrender, and Callum's brilliant leadership in the face of over-whelming odds.

 

She waved the map lamely at her equally fed-up looking companions. With her was Khelgar, a Dwarf from the clan Ironfist, who loved drinking, banter and brawling in equal measure (Sarina's Bosom buddy no. 1).Next to him was Neeshka, who much like the stereotype, was a Tiefling thief. Although unlike the stereotype, she was a good egg at heart with a wicked sense of humour (bosom buddy no. 2).

 Also travelling with them was the beautiful Elven Druidess, Elanee from the Mere (preachy tree-hugger, yet quite likeable for it), and finally the latest addition to the group, Bard Grobnar Gnomehands (nuttier than Squirrel shit, but unwittingly hilarious). She hadn’t expected to pick up a group to travel around with, and was even more flabbergasted when they continued to follow her through the various tasks of part of the city guards, and ultimately on a more dangerous mission into the mountains. Apparently Neverwinter was filled with helpful vagabonds, looking for adventure outside of the Mere of Dean Men. Or maybe they didn’t have anything better to do with their time, who knew? It wasn’t her place to question their motives for accompanying her and she was eternally grateful for the aid. Even if the company was a little… strange.

 

 "Oh for Tyr’s sake! Can anyone else make any sense of this stupid map? Think Callum's stone senses aren't what they used to be."

Khelgar snatched the map from her and frowned at it, "Y'know the whole 'Stone Sense' thing is complete nonsense we tell to non-dwarves for a laugh right? Literally complete Hog Wash. It's like saying all you elves do nothing but prance around woods and hug trees."

She nodded sagely, "Admittedly there is some prancing, anyway, half-elf remember? My foster-father must have skipped the lesson on tree-hugging though. So, map?"

"Heh, he also miss out the lesson on map-reading? The Bonegnasher lair should be just over that ridge. As much as I hate to admit it, fighting these Bonegnashers may be hard going, they've got a reputation even amongst the Orcs for being nasty bastards. It may be best to avoid making ourselves too obvious out here, unless we fancy fighting our way through the entire tribe." Khelgar bit out painfully, as if the words themselves were foul tasting.

Neeshka gasped dramatically, "I'm sorry but did Moss breath really just advise caution? What no charging in, massive Axe swinging away? Are you feeling OK Khelgar?"

"Shut your mouth, Goat girl."

“Goat girl. Like I haven’t heard that one about a million times before. I bet even the Orcs could come up with a better insult than ‘Goat Girl’.”

Khelgar pinched his impressively bushy brow, “If you don’t shut up Tiefling, I’m going to turn one of your horns into my new drinking mug. The Orcs can use the other one as a toothpick.”

“HA! Like you’d be able the reach…”

 

Sarina had to bite down on her lip to stop herself from laughing. "Guys, not to interrupt but what did Khelgar just say about not making ourselves too obvious? I just want to try to sweet talk Yaisog into giving us the emissary's location, and then get the hell outta here before anything too many Orcs know we’re here. With any luck we'll be back with the Greycloaks tonight then back to civilisation tomorrow morning. We all good with that?"

"Aye, you're right"

"Yes ma'am".

She gestured to the permanently confused-looking Gnome to her left, “Grobnar, you’ve been in these mountains longer than we have, do you agree with the plan so far?”

Grobnar shook his head and looked uncertainly at his new audience, “Oh! I was wasn’t paying any attention sorry! I was just trying to think of a word that rhymes with Yaisog for my song. But alas, I think there is none.”

The poor Gnome looked genuinely distressed by his conundrum, it was hard not to feel for him with that little, hopeful face of his,

“… that’s great Grobnar, keep plugging away at it OK?”

Preachy tree hugger Elanee cleared her throat pointedly, and floated gracefully over to plant herself square in front of Sarina’s eye line. She appeared to glide over the stony path with almost practiced ease, though her unfaltering, horrified expression gave away her true discomfort at the rocky terrain. Not that Sarina could blame her, only the truly hardy and the mad would feel at home in such a bleak, grey place. Apart from Orcs, and Dwarves of course, this was their natural home in the order of things. So anyone but the hardy, the mad, or any Orc or Dwarf, would be stupid enough to live here in the mountains. Yeah, that about covered it.

 "We may wish to tread lightly from this point on, I have the feeling we are being watched. Though whether it is Orcs or this 'Katalmach' Callum mentioned earlier, I do not know."

"I'd rather not come across either if I'm honest, I prefer the company of the completely sane. Let’s go.”

As they walked silently through the mountain pass, Sarina felt the cold prickle of being watched. Although they had been quite adept at taking down the Orcs that had attacked Old Owl well, she knew that was only a small recon group compared with the numerous tribes that inhabited this part of the mountains. With any luck Yaisog’s orcs wouldn’t attack on sight and she could strike some kind of deal for information on the emissary’s whereabouts.

 As for the other mysterious group that kept harassing the orcs, well they could damn well stay mysterious. Anyone who chose to live here and fight Orcs for a living, without any Greycloak help, was probably insane _. And not nice Grobnar insane either_.


	2. Those Are Our Orcs

 

Sarina tried to hide her dry heave as she picked off a piece of Orc off her short robe. Khelgar (Bosom Buddy no.1/Dwarf) and his mad Axe swinging had sent the uncooperative Yaisog and his Orcs flying everywhere in considerably more pieces than before. The stupid Orc couldn’t listen to reason, and so had off he had been sent into the next realm. At least she had the mind to wear leather trousers, the preachy-but-nice, tree-hugger’s (Elanee’s) long brown robe was looking decidedly rank after that fight. Luckily, nobody was injured too seriously after the difficult fight with Yaisog. And he’d gloatingly tipped them off that the Waterdeep emissary was being held by an even more powerful Orc warlord called Logram. Though he hadn’t been nice enough to draw them a map before he’d attacked, which was a bit unfortunate.

Grobnar (Plucky/Nutty Bard) was whistling happily as they exited the cave into the bright afternoon sun. It grated on her nerves, surely the little sod knew they were headed into battle with the most dangerous Orc tribe in Neverwinter? The Gnome had spent a little time in these mountains, surely even he would know what Logram’s Orcs would do to them if they were caught unawares? Then again, there was probably a reason the Gnome was much better at singing than he was at using his mini Crossbow.

“Grobnar... sweetie. Can you keep it quiet, just as we look for Logram’s lair, please?”

“Oh, yes of course Reenie.” He grinned sweetly, she didn’t even have the heart to tell him off for calling her ‘Reenie’.

A brown grinning face (Bosom Buddy 2/Thieving Tiefling) entered her eye line, “What a wonderful nickname, _Reenie_!”

“Neeshka, you better shut the fu-“

“ORCS!”

 

A quick fire storm and a few stabs later, the small group of orcs were dispatched. As they gave their fallen enemies dignified treatment and rifled through what little belongings the dead Orcs had on them, Grobnar kept a look out for any further waves. A much larger Orc group was spotted not too far in the distance, but they seemed to be engaged in combat by something else.

Someone else.

_Tyr no. Not more weirdos._

“HEY! Those are our Orcs!” Khelgar roared.

Sarina groaned, “I’m sure there are plenty more Orcs to be killed today Khelgar, can’t we just slip past while these people take care of this lot?”

Unfortunately, the Orcs had heard Khelgar, and the majority broke away from the strange attackers and were lumbering their way towards them rather quickly. This was going to be a hard fight and it wasn’t yet known if the other group were friend or foe.

“Never mind! Get ready and shout if you need healing” Sarina shouted.

Khelgar charged into the fray headfirst, while Elanee cast her druidic spells in-between slashing anything that got too close with her wicked looking sickle. How she made hacking an Orc to death in a dirty robe look so effortless, and even elegant would always be a mystery. It was probably something to do with the beautiful, ethereal nature of full-blooded Elves, she decided. Some lucky sods had it all.

Neeshka stayed on the edge of the battle, slicing and parrying furiously with talented backstabs. A number of Orcs had surrounded Elanee and were whittling through her Bark skin faster than Sarina could cast her mediocre healing spells.

“Neesh! Elanee needs help, now!” she yelled breathlessly.

 Neeshka winked in reply, ever the Rogue. She kicked her final orc away before stalking behind the ones attacking Elanee. Sarina stopped healing to cast a Fire ball as Neeshka swiped the orcs from behind. Thankfully, the other group of what appeared to be all humans, joined them in dispatching their attackers.

Slowly they were cutting down the orcs with the help of the strange group‘s swords. Sarina felt herself tire as the flames burst from her finger tips. Too late, she heard the heavy pant and grunting laugh of an orc behind her, and cursed her momentary lack of awareness bitterly. As she spun too late to face the falling blade, a Crossbow Bolt shot through the orc’s face. It didn’t even have the time to look surprised as it dropped the blade harmlessly at her feet.

“Well, never say that Grobnar Gnomehands isn’t useful in a battle!”

She thanked her deity and swore to buy Grobnar the biggest ale he’d ever seen once they got back to Duncan’s tavern.

 

As the last of the Orcs fell, the two groups faced one another warily. Sarina quietly healed her group as she felt herself being evaluated by the unknown soldiers. She stared squarely back at them, as though daring them to make a move first. Soldiers could sometimes be a bit… _off_ with mages, something she’d picked fights over in her younger days.

“Let me handle this.” She whispered to her companions.

Khelgar and Elanne nodded ever so slightly, while Neeshka frowned. Grobnar Gnomehands just looked as cheerful as ever.

 

 A tall, dark-haired man in full plate armour stepped forward, obviously the leader. From the determined look on his face, it looked like their judgement had been passed.

“I’m curious, why have you ventured into the mountains? Surely you knew the risk in coming here?” He had an unusually deep, rich voice, and eyed her with striking blue eyes.

_Oh no, he’s hot. Gods, not the time Sar._

“What do you mean?” she hoped she sounded confident.

“The Sword Mountains are a dangerous place, especially now the Orc tribes have rallied behind Logram’s banner.”

The way he spoke was almost patronising to Sarina, like this was brand new information to her, like her group couldn’t hope to navigate such dangerous terrain. Irritation prickled up inside her, good-looking or not, how dare he insinuate that they were incompetent fighters?!

_He has a point though, we are so lost._

“We had everything under control, sir.” she said smoothly.

The dark-haired man smirked but quickly made an attempt to hide it. “So I noticed. I thank you then for allowing us to take part in the battle.”

Her heart raced that bit faster when he smirked. She guessed the man was in his late thirties or early forties by the lines around his eyes. Quite a bit older than her, but not well out of the acceptable dating age range. She shook herself mentally. She’d only just met this strange man in the orc-filled mountains, and she was already evaluating how dateable he was? Oh gods, how desperate was she?

Still rather irritated with his superior attitude, she looked pointedly back at his men then back at him, “Would you care to tell me who you are, and what you want from us?”

His eyebrow flicked up for half a second before he answered politely. “I am Casavir, my men and I have been hunting this group of Orcs for days.”

“Are you with the Greycloaks?”

“No. Although we do fight the Orcs alongside Callum’s men, it is for the protection of the villages and Old Owl well, rather than with the Greycloaks.

“Wait… you’re... not that ‘Katalmach’ that Callum were telling us about are you?”

He looked decidedly less pleased when she mentioned the name ‘Katalmach’, “That is the name the orcs have given me, yes.”

 

Yep, he was definitely insane. A shame really, he was kind of attractive once you got past the patronising leader part. She floundered for a second, looking around quickly for an escape. At least unfriendly Orcs were not an unknown variable, unlike this man and his group. Callum was definitely right in not liking those.

“Well Casavir, thanks for your help and everything but I think it’s time we hit the road…”

He stepped forward, blocking her exit. She had to stop herself from reaching for a spell in response.

“Wait, we’ve been tracking your progress through these mountains for a while now. What is it that you’re after?”

She contemplated giving him a sarcastic reply but thought better of it, the man obviously knew how to swing a sword and she wasn’t confident in testing his questionable mental state.

“The orc, Logram Eyegouger. We’re searching for his lair. He’s taken something that doesn’t belong to him, an emissary from Waterdeep. The emissary was travelling through these parts two weeks ago when he went missing. Figured Logram could point us in the right direction.” She conjured a small flame to signal that Logram wasn’t going to have much choice in the matter.

 

He scanned over her to her companions, “Isn’t that a rather small group to be taking on the entire Eyegouger tribe?”

“Oh, we manage.”

He seemed somewhat amused by her answer, “So I see. However, as you are headed in this direction, I guess that you do not know the way to his lair yet?”

“..No.”

The man, Casavir, stepped back, as though he was completing what to do next. After a few quiet moments, he looked up resolute as though he had come to some kind of decision.

“I will lead the way to Logram’s lair. And lend you my sword for however long you need it. If we defeat Logram, the orcs will be in too much disarray to mount any more attacks on Old Owl Well. It would beneficial for everyone this way.”

He turned briskly to one of his men, “Katriona, take the men back to camp. When you are ready, go to Old Owl well and explain who we are to Callum, it’s time we joined forces with the Greycloaks.”

The man he was addressing reached up and took off his helmet. Long, blond curls fell from the helmet to reveal a pretty, woman warrior.

“Sir... I don’t think you should be going on your own, let me come...”

“No, a smaller group is needed, any larger and we’ll attract unwanted attention. Please, do as I say Katriona.”

She stared at him at a moment too long before answering, “As you command.”

Face set, she nodded smartly before rounding the men up and marching out without even a glance back at her commander. So, Sarina wasn’t the only one who found the man attractive. Ouch. Poor Katriona.

“Erm… Casavir? Do you mind if I just have a quick word with my companions? Nothing to worry about, they just like to be kept informed of what is going on.”

He nodded, “Yes of course. I shall wait here until you are ready to set out for Logram.”

 

 

Sarina turned back to where her companions were standing and strode over, raising her finger to her lips, in a silent plea for them to keep it down.

Khelgar whispered so loudly, Sarina was sure even Neverwinter could hear them, never mind Casavir, “I say we let him join us, another sword is always useful and Logram’s tribe will be much harder to kill than Yaisog’s whelps. Don’t think I’ve not noticed you ladies seem content to step back and let old Khelgar take the brunt in fights.”

“Heh. Yes thank you Khelgar. What do you guys think?”

Neeshka cringed. “Urgh you know he’s Paladin right? Their aura always make my skin itch.”

“A Paladin? I’ve never met one before. Explains the patronising smugness. Is it going to be an issue Neesh? If so, I can just tell him to stuff his sword up his plated ass and piss off?” Sarina asked.

They both snorted childishly while Elanee rolled her eyes.

“No it’s fine, besides he might have some interesting things in his packs. Holy relics and the like! They always fetch a good price at markets.” Neeshka perked up visibly at the thought.

Sarina turned to Grobnar and Elanee, Grobnar nodded enthusiastically while Elanee pursed her lips. The Druid discreetly turned to inspect the Paladin stood a small distance away from their huddle.

“Another sword hand would be useful going into the Eyegouger lair.” The elf coolly admitted.

Sarina nodded, “Right guess it’s settled then. Another Meat shield to go up front with Khelgar!”

She winked cheekily at Khelgar’s displeased grunt before spinning around to face their new recruit. He was stood upright, back ramrod straight, cleaning his sword whilst he waited patiently for them to finish conferring.

“Welcome aboard Casavir” she beamed.

_Holier-than-thou’s got no idea what he’s let himself in for._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Casavir's First Sin

Sarina felt the fear in her stomach curl up unpleasantly into her chest as they approached the Bonegnasher clanhold. It hadn’t taken them long to reach the ominous looking cave, even with the waves of Orcs that tried to stop them along the way. Casavir had proven himself a capable fighter so far, allowing him to come along had been a good decision. Plus it gave her something pretty to look at along the way. _Not productive, scary Orcs to deal with._

She shushed her mind quickly. Gods only knew what he thought of fighting alongside her ragtag group of misfits, after leading his own well trained men for so long.

 

They paused as they reached the mouth of the cave, each of them staring into the great maw uneasily. Even Khlegar looked apprehensive as he peered warily into the inky darkness.

“Ladies first, eh?” he joked lamely.

“Stone sense still not working today?”

“Nah, I just thought we’d all enjoy watching you prance in first elf.”

Sarina tutted over-dramatically as she walked past into the foul smelling cave, “ _Half_ Elf dammit”.

 

 

Progress through Logram’s lair was slow but steady. The Orcs succumbed relatively easily to the mix of blade, spell and bolt. They came across a group of wounded Orcs in a side-room, and Sarina had briefly toyed with the idea of ending their lives early, but had relented. They didn’t look like vicious monsters lying injured in some rudimentary infirmary. She wasn’t averse to killing when needs be, but killing them as they lay injured just felt like a cop out. Guilt clawed at her as she remembered Yaisog bartering for his life only hours before. There was little less disconcerting than seeing a prolific killer beg for his life, but beg he had done. Maybe killing him had been a mistake, she wondered. But it was too late for doubts now.

 

 

Fighting Logram himself proved difficult, they’d gone into the throne room preparing for him to refuse to bargain but he put up an impressive fight right until the end. Elanee had found his medallion amidst the carnage, handing it to Sarina and suggesting to keep a hold of it as proof of the Eyegouger’s demise. Her long robe was even less of a brown colour now.

It was as they turned down into a deeper passage of the cave, that they discovered the real source of the foul air. Human corpses lay stacked on top of one another, their limbs splayed as they had been dumped unceremoniously on the floor. Images of West Harbour after the attack came unbidden, making her steps falter and the bile rise. Luckily Elanee caught her, steadying her before any of the others noticed her moment of weakness. For that, Sarina felt eternally grateful to the wood elf.

  Casavir stopped before the bodies, staring numbly at the grim sight, “These corpses... I know these men and women, I served with them.”

Khelgar stepped towards the remains, “It looks like they fell in battle, but...”

Casavir shook his head firmly, “Some of these soldiers fell in battle, but their bodies were never found. I do not know how they ended up here, but they certainly did not fall in here.”

Sarina felt his pain, seeing comrades’ dead was never an easy thing, but to see their remains mistreated, that must have been a terrible blow.

“These people deserve funeral rites, not to rot in some cave like this.”

He nodded, eyes glazed. “They deserve that much at least. I thank you for showing respect to those I stood with.”

“No one deserves to be piled here like this. We owe to them to continue on.”

“I agree. I want to know who has done this, and _why_.”

 

The atmosphere seemed to worsen still as they ventured down, deeper into the Orc lair. A _Wrongness_ seemed to permeate the air, and stick to the skin like spider webs. A robed corpse lay on the floor, limbs stuck out at unnatural angles like the ones they had encountered earlier.

Casavir’s usually set face looked distinctly uncomfortable at the scene, “This place… someone is using the dead for experimentation… defiling their bodies instead of allowing them to rest.”

It looked as though the body had been re-arranged as part of some spell. Necromancy of some kind perhaps? She wasn’t much of a reader, but what little she knew of the ghastly art told her what they would find down there would be much worse than anything they’d anticipated.

Neeshka’s head snapped up and she hissed quite inhumanly, “We’ve got company”.

 

It was another of those dark ‘priests’ in strange masks and robes they’d encountered previously, this time flanked by two robed figures, similarly dressed to the one lay dead on the ground. A foul stench emanated from them, a sickly decaying smell that cloyed at the back of the throat. It was then Sarina realised, they were dead too.

“Ahh, I thought I felt a stir in my domain. Like a bright light trying to cast away the shadow.” It called.

A bright light…Casavir, it meant Casavir. The priest had probably sensed his holy aura from miles away.

Casavir looked furious, a righteous, quiet anger that Sarina could only stare at. This must be what a true holy Paladin looked like when faced with pure evil. It was mesmerising.

“These people… what have you done to them? You deny them their rest, deny them their _peace_?”

“Come now. Surely you remembered how they died, Paladin? These mountains have been covered in blood since your arrival. After all, you led these dead into one glorious charge after another, and eventually it became not only the Orcs who suffered for your wrath. I think what I have done is mercy in comparison.”

Casavir was too incensed to reply as the taunts had clearly hit their mark. He looked as though he were about to throw himself headfirst at the enemy, a move that would likely cost them the battle if he did. Or perhaps he was expecting her to run while he fought? From what little she knew of the paladin, it was clear this was one extremely rare situation where he’d ever lose his focus in a blind rage. She needed to snap him out of it quickly before he did something rash.

Sarina smashed her Quarterstaff down hard to get the priest’s attention, “We will not allow this defilement to continue. Raise your weapon, _priest_.”

She thought for a moment, that she had seen a look of relief on Casavir’s face and it surprised her somewhat. Of course they’d stop this together, she’d sworn it so hadn’t she?

“Our leader speaks true – you face us both.” He pulled his sword slowly from its sheath, eyes set on his enemy, “I can sense the evil that courses within you, it has changed you and will soon run deeper than you know.”

The thing shook its head as though it was amused by his statement, “Oh Paladin… shadows always run deeper than one knows. Even deep within your heart, I think, you must know of what I speak. Now come, shadow awaits you holy one.”

 

Sarina pulled her magic deep from her core and cast the hottest Fireburst she could summon.  She turned to look at her companions and saw that they too were fighting with a sickened kind of anger much like she felt. Even Grobnar was firing bolt after bolt frantically into the priest’s guard’s flesh. Khelgar and Casavir had taken to slashing and stabbing either side of the priest, eagerly trying to hack through his thick magical shield. Elanee and Neeshka flanked his guards, making short work of the undead abominations, before starting on the priest itself.  As the priest finally fell, Casavir swung his sword high before bringing it down viciously upon the thing’s head. All of them stood panting hard, looking to one another in silence. The relief was palpable.

“It is done.” Casavir spoke quietly.

“Yes, let’s get the emissary, bury the bodies quickly and go.”

He sheathed his sword and said nothing.

 

 


	4. Katriona's Lament

It was a quiet, sombre journey back to Old Owl well. Sarina had healed Issani the emissary as much she could for the return, but doing so had sapped whatever physical strength she had left. Grobnar had had to take over healing the small injuries the rest of the group had taken. Seeing the well appear on the horizon as night began to fall brought sweet relief, though Casavir’s steps hesitated as they approached, she noticed.

“Something wrong?” she asked wearily.

“No… hopefully not my lady.”

That sounded ominous from the rather expressionless Paladin. He didn’t seem to want to elaborate either, which was probably a good thing after the day they all had. At least Callum seemed pleased to see them.

“Ah good to see you return. With the Waterdeep emissary, safe and sound. Well done”.

Sarina gave a quick grimace, trying to be polite in the face of the weariness, but Callum carried on undeterred.

“Ah… and you’ve brought Logram Eyegouger’s banner! And the Medallion!  That would explain why the Orc attacks have stopped – without a chieftain, they’ll be busy fighting one another now.”

“I’m just glad things worked out Callum.”

He nodded appreciatively. “Aye it did. That reminds me, there’s a woman in camp arrived not too long ago with some of her men. Claims she was part of the force attacking the Orcs. It’s her leader I was waiting for, and I see you’ve brought him. Well met Casavir.”

So apparently these two knew each other already? That was interesting. Still, she hoped they made it quick, all she could concentrate on now was having a stiff drink and a long sleep.

“Good to see you in one piece Callum.”

Sarina cleared her throat, curiosity getting the better of her, “Sooo… you two know each other?”

“Yes Callum serves Neverwinter, as did I… for a time.” There was obviously a story behind that, one she could hopefully tease out of him _after_ that drink. And full night’s sleep.

Callum crossed his arms, frowning in concentration. “Well, now I know who was leading that mercenary band, I can understand why it was so difficult to make contact with you. You’ve put me in a difficult position here Casavir – you’re leaving was sudden, some even say disloyal to Neverwinter.”

The change in tone was instantaneous. It was clear whatever Casavir had done in the past, it had been…bad. And now his life hung in the balance. Great, now Callum sounded like he was going to execute Casavir for being a traitor and she’d HAVE to step in. For a brief second, she considered telling her companions to stand down and leaving him to his fate, as at least then she’d get that drink much sooner. But no, as tempting as that was, she couldn’t leave him for dead.

“Whatever trouble Casavir is in, know that he helped us- and you – willingly.” She implored Callum with her eyes. _Let me recruit him, he’s damn useful._

Casavir looked at her and spoke quietly, “I cannot have you defend me in this, but I thank you for your words.”

_Bloody idiot, suck it up and let me help you!_

“No harm will come in him, I assure you. My report will read that the Greycloaks were able to hold off the Orcs long enough for you to take Logram’s head. That should make the Council happy and put you in their good graces too.” Callum smiled wryly.

_Fuck their good graces._

They’d already had her running all over the city, fixing the numerous messes they’d caused through criminal underfunding of services such as the Watch. Not to mention the fatal decision to send an emissary from Waterdeep through one of most dangerous areas in all the Sword Coast. Whatever little patience she had for those in charge of Neverwinter, was almost completely dry after she’d witnessed the consequences of their bungling. Many people both in the city and here in Old Owl Well had lost their homes and even their lives because of the Council’s ineffectual governing. She’d make a mental note to aide Neeshka in robbing every single one of them blind, once they returned to Neverwinter, she decided. Apart from Callum of course, the dwarf was a glaring exception to that decision. He was one of the only members who had rightly earned his place among the Nine, the only one she’d seen actually fighting for the common folk.

 

“You don’t need to worry. Officially Casavir was never here.” Callum turned to face Casavir, “Whatever reasons you had for leaving and going on to Old Owl Well- they are your own. Despite what some may say, you’ve done much good for the people in this area.”

“And you’ll have us watching your back too, don’t forget.” She winked conspiratorially and he raised his eyebrows a touch in response.

“I thank you again, but I will do my best to ensure you are not drawn into my troubles.” He said as seriously as ever, “Rest assured that I doubt anyone is still looking for me. I left Neverwinter’s service, and the matter is not more complicated than that.”

_Yeah, right. Nice try Paladin._

She smiled tiredly at Callum, “Well if that’s everything Callum, I could sure use a drink and some sleep. Pretty sure my traveling companions would agree too.”

“You’ve done your fair share today. Spare tents over there, I’ll get my men to sort them for you. Oh and Sarina?” He tossed a hefty money bag which she caught deftly. “Consider it a gift from the Council. And keep an eye on Casavir for me, would you? I hope you can help him.” 

 

 _Help him?_ She looked quizzically at the man in question, but he was staring rather doggedly at the ground.

“One last thing Casavir, you may want to see your friend Katriona. I’d sure she’d like to make sure you’re alright.”

Sarina waved her farewell to Callum and began to stride over to where the rest of the group were busy settling in for the night. Khelgar had already procured some ale from gods know where, wonderful yet dreadfully stereotypical dwarf that he was.

“My lady, please wait. I’d like you to accompany me while I talk to Katriona, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you both.”

She felt the sense of relief pop. “Oh...OK sure.”

_This is going to be awkward._

 

 

 

Katriona was stood expectantly away from the Greycloaks campfires, her beautiful face lighting up as she saw who was approaching. She tried school her features into more of a neutral expression, but her feelings couldn’t be more obvious if they were etched across her face in ink.

“Casavir!” she stepped towards him, eyes shining, “It’s so good to see you again Casavir, I heard you found Logram.”

“We did. I am glad you were able to make it here to warn Callum – if we had failed, there would be little keeping Logram from taking this place for himself.” He replied neutrally.

“Yet you succeeded sir, just as you had predicted.”

The lull in conversation stretched infinitely, and only increased the feeling she was intruding. Sarina briefly wondered how bad it would look if she just turned and left them to go drink by the fire. She didn’t know why he had asked her to join in on their conversation, she’d only known him for one day. Katriona was still trying to keep her emotions from her face, but the hope carved on her expression was hard to miss.

“Do you have any new orders? Even with the tribes in disarray, this place is still dangerous. You and I could stay and help the Greycloaks rebuild and defend Old Owl Well, I- if you wanted.”

 _WHO knew rocks could be so interesting?_ Sarina tried to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible. She felt for Katriona, but she also felt her double-crossing hopes rise in the chest. She wanted him for her group, but _just_ because he was a good fighter, no other reason. She didn’t know anything else about him to have formed a solid opinion yet. The moment stretched on painfully again as they waited for an answer. She sighed quietly, might as well give him a little nudge in Katriona’s favour. The poor woman was obviously besotted and deserved that much at least. Having feelings unreciprocated was never a nice, well, feeling.

“Maybe you should stay Casavir, you could re-join your men. Carry on the good work you’ve done so far.”

“No. The Orcs no longer hold Old Owl well. It has been freed for the people here, not solely for a Neverwinter trade route. The Greycloaks can adequately provide any protection the people here may need now.”

Damn. The man either was completely oblivious, or was one cold-hearted bastard. Katriona’s hopes slid right off her lovely face.

“Going to leave just the way you arrived are you, Casavir? So where does that leave me?”

_Now, which rock was bigger? The one near her left foot or…_

“You could stay here, help the Greycloaks. You’ve got considerable skill Katriona, I’m sure Callum would find you a great asset.” He said gently.

“Hmm. Perhaps. Though I think I’m due a change of scenery in time. Maybe there’s a nobleman in Neverwinter who needs an extra blade by their side. For now I guess I’ll stay a little longer.”

Even if she didn’t actually know Katriona, she fully respected her for handling having her affections turned down so well. But that was more than enough weirdness for one day, she decided.

Sarina spoke quickly, deciding now was her time to turn tail and drink that now mythical ale of Khelgar’s, “Well, good luck with that! Now if you’ll both excuse me, I’ve had a very long day and it looks like my good friend Khelgar is going to drink all the ale before I’ve had a chance to sample any…”

Casavir nodded, “I couldn’t have asked for a finer sergeant. Goodbye Katriona, and good luck.”

 

They walked together in companionable silence to the campfire. Elanee, Neehska and Grobnar were tiredly sipping from their mugs, whereas Khelgar looked to be on his fifth or sixth already.

Neeshka lifted her mug in cheers, then gestured over to where new tents had been erected as they had talked. “Seems the Greycloaks can be quite hospitable when they want to be! Plenty of extra supplies too by the look of it.”

“I know it’s tempting but please don’t rob them Neesh, they need every bloody penny they can get.” Sarina joked.

The Rogue stuck out her bottom lip, “Hey! I do have some morals you know. Anyway, I got lots of stuff from the Orcs. Who knew they’d carry so much good stuff? I mean, what do they even need gems for anyway? Commerce?! I thought their version of trading would be; ‘You have better axe than me, me take axe, Kill you now. Argggh!”

“Wow... that’s… I have no words. Just hand me and Casavir a bottle please?”

Casavir grabbed his bottle of Ale, thanking Neeshka quietly. Sarina didn’t know what to make of him. The rest of her companions seemed like open books, you could tell a lot about them within five minutes of meeting them. OK that was far too simplistic, they did have hidden depths, Khelgar wanted to become a Monk of all things, for Tyr’s sake. But Casavir seemed different, like he was hiding something. Guilt-ridden. Sad. Spent a lot of time schooling his expressions, his opinions, keeping his past secret too probably. He seemed to have a good heart though, she saw that when they buried his dead comrades. But his overly-polite way of quietly rejecting Katriona was… cold. Too cold for a man duty bound to protect others as his calling.

 She’d get it out of him. Though she was no Bard, she was not too bad at talking, and at making others talk.

Grobnar took the lull in conversation between his exhausted companions as the perfect time to pull out his Lute and start singing Gnomeish mourning ballads. He was _most_ confused as to why it suddenly seemed everyone was very tired and scrambled to bed rather quickly. Never mind, he’d sing plenty for them tomorrow on the way back to Neverwinter. He’d just have to keep looking for something that rhymed with ‘Yaisog’.


	5. The Interrogation

The Sunken Flagon was not the most salubrious of places, but it was home. She figured they all could do with a day or two off after the events at Old Owl Well. If the Watch wanted them to go straight back on duty then they could go suck an egg.

Grobnar was busy taking song requests from the local dock workers, singing bawdy songs about Tavern wenches which made the entire pub roar with laughter. He didn't understand some of words he was asked to sing, but he loved having a rapt audience for a change. Grobnar was delighted at becoming the Sunken Flagon’s resident Bard. And although Duncan complained endlessly about the crazy gnome, Sarina could tell he was secretly pleased that his pub now boasted its very own minstrel.

Though Duncan never asked for any keep while he housed and fed them, Sarina always hid one or two gemstones from their travels under his bed. He had taken her and several companions in when they had nowhere else to stay. To not give him something back would be a disservice, even if he was kin. Thankfully, he never mentioned or refused the gifts, which had saved them both a whole lot of awkwardness. Uncle Duncan was much more demonstrative than Daeghun, and she quickly likened him to another father-figure. But he was one who always made sure her wine glass was full, which probably didn't count as a particularly fatherly act but she appreciated it nonetheless. Duncan Farlong was brash and short-tempered, and drank far too much of his own stock, but he was family and she enjoyed his company.

 

Her companions were dotted about the Sunken Flagon in one’s and two’s. Casavir was in a corner chatting almost animatedly with Khelgar she was surprised to see. She was glad he seemed to be fitting in quite nicely. It was probably past time she sat down with him and did the old get-to-know-you spiel, considering they fought together so closely in battle the previous few days. She made eye contact with Khelgar, motioning that she'd like a private chat with Casavir.

The dwarf twigged instantly, raising his mug at the paladin as he stood. He always seemed to know what was on her mind. It reminded her of the easy friendship she once shared with Amie and Bevil. Sharing the same silly sense of humour, being able to finish each other's sentences, the resemblance to her past friendships was uncanny. She got on well with Grobnar and Elanee, but it was Khelgar and even Neeshka that she really seemed to click with from the off. It was like the beginning of bad joke; an elf, a tiefling and a dwarf walk into a pub….

 She felt guilty for a moment, realising she hadn’t thought of her childhood friends in weeks. She wondered how Bevil was doing in West Harbour, and wondered how the village was recovering after the attack. And Amie… poor sweet, Amie. It was stunning how much she missed her childhood best friends.

The memory of Amie's broken body came flooding back once more, the grief burning through her chest suddenly. Beautiful, sweet, sarcastic Amie- she'd always been a much more gifted sorceress than Sarina. She’d just had this natural talent for magic, but she always patiently tried to teach her on how to cast better spells. She had given her life to save the Hedge wizard Tarmas, she would have given her life for anyone. Sarina couldn't be sure she'd do the same if given the chance.

Forcing the unpleasant memories from her mind, she stalked over to Casavir’s table, covering the internal grief with a visage of overconfidence. He calmly watched her approach, taking a swig from his mug as he sat back in his chair. Why the butterflies suddenly flared up in her belly, she did not know. Men, as a rule, did not intimidate her, and neither would the Paladin. She sat down next to him and sipped her wine silently. She was playing the 'cool' card with the newbie, while considering her verbal approach to begin her interrogation.

"It is good to see you again my lady" he sounded different tonight. Stoic yet not as guarded, almost relaxed for once by his standards, in no doubt helped by the half-empty bottle of red wine set before him. Were paladins allowed to get pissed, she wondered briefly?

"And you, although you can drop the 'my lady'. I may be female but I'm certainly no lady."

"That we shall disagree on, so what can I do for you?" his deep blue eyes scanned her face, making the clever words stumble in her throat. The wine had brought a slight rosy tinge to his pale face, it made a rather fetching contrast to his sharp cheekbones.

"Um… I just thought I'd get to know our latest addition to the group. The whole 'What's your name and where do you come from', that sort of thing. You don’t need to worry, it’s not an interrogation or anything. "

 She was babbling. What happened to not being intimidated by a good looking man? Ignoring that rather pertinent question, she was very eager to get to know him. They couldn’t have someone travelling with them and not know a thing about them. Even more importantly, she wanted to learn of his association with Callum, to know what his alleged desertion was about. And he would have picked up on that little lie she just told, paladins could do that, couldn't they? He had to know he was being shaken down for information. If he did notice anything, he didn't show anything but slightly tipsy bemusement.

"Hmm so be it, my name is Casavir, 35 and I'm from Blacklake, Neverwinter originally." he leaned back in his chair, looking expectantly at her.

"Urgh fine, Sarina Farlong, 27, I'm from West Harbour, a village in the Mere."

"27? That’s surprising. You don't look a day over 20."

Sarina rolled her eyes playfully, "If I had a gold coin for every time I heard that... “

She pulled her hair back to show her ear, "Not 100% human, we half-elves only reach full adulthood at around age 20. We age a little slower too, used to drive my friends nuts when it came to visiting neighbouring village taverns, they'd never let us in 'cos of my damn baby face!"

He chuckled deeply. "I had quite the opposite growing up, I looked older than my years, made getting ale easy work as a teen. At the behest of friends, I'd walk into the nearest tavern, order half a dozen pints and then nonchalantly stroll back out again, arms full of tankards. It made me one the most popular teenagers in the Blacklake district."

"Yeah, I'll bet it did!"

His dark eyebrows knitted together as he frowned thoughtfully at the bottle of wine in front of him, "I haven't drank alcohol for quite some time, it seems my tolerance for it has dropped somewhat."

"You say that like it is a bad thing, just makes you a cheap date Casavir."

He coughed to hide his laughter, blushing spectacularly. The butterflies did a synchronised jig in her stomach. Posh boys had always been her favourite to flirt with back in West Harbour. Though ‘posh’ there meant owning the biggest wooden cart, or having the largest wheat field. Not quite like the rich, noble families of Neverwinter, but still, fancies didn’t change.

 

It was nice, she realised. Underneath the cold civility _he_ was nice. But if she could trust him, she needed to know about him and Callum, and about his desertion. She took a sizeable gulp of wine to steel herself.

"Look Casavir, I don't want to pry but when Callum mentioned you two once served together, what did he mean?"

He gives a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "Yes, I was below him in rank, but we both served Neverwinter a few years back. We were once… friends you could say."

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

He picked up his goblet, swishing the wine around inside as he considered his answer.

"I ended up leaving Neverwinter's service – though not after many lost night's sleep, one does not tend to leave its service so easily." He added wryly. "I did not inform them of my decision to leave, so I did not part in good graces. I suspect many of them do not even know why I left."

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down into his goblet.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this, I haven't spoken about this before." He said quietly.

Sarina shrugged, "It's OK, I'm trustworthy if little else."

He smiled grimly, ever so slightly at that, before his face fell, "I... betrayed my oath, to my order, to Neverwinter. Shunned my sworn duty. I had doubts about my service to Nasher, to the city itself."

"Why? Why did you leave?" she asked quietly.

"It was an impulsive decision, and not the correct one, though I thought it right at the time. There was no place in Neverwinter for me any longer. The farther I travelled from the city's walls, the more I saw what harm was befalling people – such as those at Old Owl well."

"What do you mean?"

"The policies of Neverwinter and the health of the city depends on politics, on trade relations. But if that is the sole focus, then the people in need of aid are sometimes lost in its shadow. I needed to travel to Old Owl Well to try and take direct action, to try to make a discernible difference in the lives of those who need it. In that at least, I feel there we may have succeeded. For that I thank you."

She waved her hand as though to deflect the thanks. "Nah, something needed to be done and so we did it. Plus it helped pay Uncle Dunc for a few more night's ale."

He at least had the grace to pretend to look amused at her little joke, Tyr bless him.

 "If you have more questions, ask them."

"You went to the mountains alone." she said pointedly. No one would go to fight the Orcs on their own, not unless they were mad or they didn't intend to return. He looked away.

"I went alone because I had to. Battling the tribes of the Old Owl Well was something that had to be done. It was simple, a necessary act. There was no doubt as what had to be done. No... conflicts."

"Conflicts?"

 

"There are battles that can be fought, and others that cannot. It is a difficult thing to speak of. I appreciate your words, and your intentions, but this is something that is difficult to share."

So he hadn’t intended to return from Old Owl Well at all. He’d gone there to battle and to fall. Probably thought it a nobler death than falling on his own sword, though the intention was the same. Something about him changed as he was sitting next to her. He was sealing himself off again, locking away whatever little personality he had allowed to shine through with the aid of the wine. The disappointment must have been clear on her face, as he glanced at her then let out a long shaky breath. She leaned toward him slightly, eyes soft.

"One does not always have to deal with conflicts alone Casavir."

His eyes closed, and he stilled for a moment. She wasn't sure if she had pushed him too far in her questions. Probing too close to a person's secret could make them shut off, sometimes for good. She desperately hoped she hadn't done the same with Casavir. She almost audibly sighed in relief when he began to speak again.

 

"You are correct. I haven’t known you for very long at all, yet you have helped achieve resolution where before there were only doubts. And for that, again I thank you. When I left for Old Owl Well, I... betrayed my oath to my order. To Neverwinter. I had doubts, to Nasher, to the city itself. I deserted my post, ran without telling anybody. I could not serve a second longer."

 

That was serious. She never realised that leaving Neverwinter for a new cause would mean abandoning the creed he'd sworn himself to for life. It was no wonder he was so reluctant to see Callum again. If not for their past, Callum would have probably been duty-bound to hang him as a deserter. She had heard the stories of fallen Paladins, everyone had. She’d been taught that every Paladin had their own struggle of balancing the baser desires of being human with the divine duties of a holy warrior. He had given up being a normal man, the day he had sworn the oaths. It was their honour-bound code, to make the world black and white, when life was nothing but magnificently grey. It was only at that moment, she realised how different they were, how separate Paladins were to everybody else. Casavir questioning his duty to Nasher, made him human again. And even if that made him a betrayer, surely it was a good thing? Shit, it was no wonder he acted the way he did.

 

"Thank you for telling me." she said softly, before hesitating. "For what it's worth... I probably would have done the same in your position. Nothing was being done to help those people in the Sword Mountains. They all would have perished to the Orcs if you hadn’t helped them. "

He grimaced, "its cathartic isn't it? Telling your worst secrets to a near stranger."

"Yep" she agreed heartily before draining her goblet, "plus we won't be strangers for long, being on the road together. You are staying for good now we're back in Neverwinter, aren't you? I mean, you don't have to stay, there's no obligation...”

"I'll stay and serve you the best I can, your quest appears rather important and I think I could help in some small way. If you'll allow me, my lady."

 

And off the butterflies went again.

"Of course, a toast then. And no more 'my lady' please, for the love of Tyr."

Casavir gave a wry tug of the lips as he re-filled their wine. They clinked goblets, but he placed it straight back down without taking a sip. He seemed quieter again, back to the formal paladin instead of the human man who allowed his emotions to show through. And she cursed herself for being too inquisitive, and scaring away his open side. It was time for a change in subject.

"Now this is where I totally embarrass myself but… I've never met a Paladin before. Could I, I mean, would it be alright if I asked you a few questions?" she hurriedly took another swig of wine to avoid meeting his eyes.

He chuckled lightly, "Yes its fine, we have quite the reputation it seems, what did you want to know?"

_Are paladins chaste, and if not, are you single? NO bad wine._

"OK first things first, have you ever heard the joke about the mad Paladin, the prostitute and the Luskan fruit merchant? No? Oh my gosh, it’s like the funniest joke ever! Well one day there’s this...”


	6. Firebrand

She should not have told him that stupid Paladin joke, she was still cringing about that spectacular lapse in judgement three days later. Not mention he now seemed to be actively avoiding her, which made things even worse. But that was probably was a good thing anyway, she was starting to get a little crush on him, which was definitely _not_ a good thing when working and living together in such close proximity. Anyway, they were far too different in character and trade for any of that nonsense. A little distance would do the both of them the world of good, she reckoned. He could go back to praying to Tyr extensively for his past sins, and she could finally realise what a boring, overly polite yet incredibly unfeeling human being he was. The little voice at the back of her head was not convinced by her false reasoning, but she grimly recognised the value to trying to chase away any inopportune feelings. She’d experienced inappropriate crushes before, and had successfully quashed those after some time, this would be no different, she swore.

"Sarina" it was her uncle Duncan, and he did not sound pleased. "Could you please tell me why several feral children have moved into my tavern? They tell me that my establishment is now their new home, for some reason."

_Whoops._

She had meant to tell him eventually about the precocious Wolf and his minions, but the right moment never did quite present itself. 'Choose your battles carefully' her step-father used to say. Of course, that was easy to say when battle meant firing arrows at an enemy that couldn't even see you. Duncan could quite easily see her, stood just an arm's length away, with arms folded over his ale-stained apron. Neeshka was grinning delightedly just behind him, clearly enjoying the sight of her leader getting a scolding off her Uncle. Even Elanee, who was perched daintily upon a bar stool carefully cleaning her staff looked rather amused at the spectacle.

"They were homeless Duncan, I couldn't just leave them out on the streets to fend for themselves."

He laughed sardonically. "You think I don't who those thieving little hooligans are? They've got quite the reputation here in the Docks. Come on Sarina, after all I've done for you, this is how you repay me? By inviting every dodgy waif and stray within 50 miles of Neverwinter into my home?"

It was just too good of an opportunity to miss, “That's not very nice thing to say about Elanee!"

Elanee did not look impressed.

Reasoning with Duncan’s charitable nature didn't seem to be working, it was time to give the puppy eyes a shot. It was clear Duncan rather enjoyed having someone around to call family again. And she didn't mean to exploit it, but if it was for the sake of a few homeless children, what harm could it do?

"Please uncle, just look at them. Moire's gang was trying to exploit Wolf into doing their dirty work, he's just a child for god’s sake. And look at little Dory, a grown man nearly beat her in the street the other day, if I hadn't have stepped in at the last minute… well look at that little face."

He continued to look most unimpressed, but he's eyes softened, almost imperceptibly.

"Argh… alright, alright. But they're YOUR responsibility, you make sure they make themselves useful and clean up after their messes. And make sure they get to bed at a reasonable time every night, the Sunken Flagon is no place for a child at night. You got that?"

“Shall I litter train them as well?”

“What was that?”

She smiled modestly, while inside she was cheering for victory, "I will look after them and clean up their mess, I promise."

 

After some profuse apologising, Elanee cheered up from being the butt of Sarina's earlier joke. In truth, she felt a little sorry for the druidess. She just looked so out of place, trailing the cobbled streets, looking mournfully at the trodden grass as they made their way through Neverwinter. Sarina had purchased her some new leather armour which she wore beautifully. It seemed she was finally accepting that long robes were probably not best suited to life outside of the Circle. Khelgar had begun to complain that his boots were starting to fall apart after weeks of traipsing around the region. While she thought about it, most of her companions could use some new armour or weapons here and there to replace their mismatch of equipment. After some mediocre bartering, and many coins lighter, she was satisfied that everyone was at least a little better outfitted for any future fighting. 

They were making their way back to the Sunken Flagon to prepare for their next mission from Captain Brelaina; dealing with a group of assassins located in a Warehouse in the Merchant district. They needed to figure out a plan of action before gearing up and heading out. However, there were three robed women blocking the entrance to the tavern. The two in blue robes were working themselves up into a frenzy, screaming insults at the third, red-haired girl, who didn't seem all that bothered that she was outnumbered. Duncan was stood close by, trying to calm the situation and failing miserably.

"Ladies, ladies. Please, there's no call to lose our tempers over this."

The red-haired on raised her eyebrow cockily, "Temper? I haven't even gotten warmed up yet."

One of the other girls shook her fist, magic sparking angrily as a show of force, obviously meant to intimidate the girl in red. Three wizards? This could go downhill very quickly, though she got the uncanny feeling it was the red-haired one who was the most threat.

"Being able to keep a reign on your spells is a sign of discipline Qara – something you could never master. The instructors aren't here to shield you now. Go on, set fire to this whole street and this sad tavern, and you'll never be able to return to the Academy, let alone Neverwinter."

The girl named Qara did not seem phased, "As if I want to stay in that prison with your high-nosed witches for another year."

"You're right, here among the Docks is where you belong - peddling yourself to the locals for cheap coin."

Khelgar whistled appreciatively, "Meeeoww, someone get me a tankard! This is going to get good."

Sarina inadvertently snorted, causing everyone stare at her incredulously. Well excuse her for having a sense of humour.

"You're just jealous, you don't like the fact that I can summon more power from my thumb than they can with a day's worth of concentration." Qara leaned on her Quarterstaff, one hand resting on her hip. It certainly didn't seem like false bravado, the girl was either very confident this fight was a sure bet or it was one hell of a bluff.

"You think setting fire to a stable while casting yours is any better, Qara? I practice... restraint... not showy, excessive displays. You always go too far, you don't belong in the academy, nobody likes you there. Do everyone a favour and torch yourself. Go on!"

Qara did not like that one bit. Fire burst from her hands and wreathed around her arms as the mood suddenly became tense. Duncan looked pleadingly at Sarina, the fun had to end now before someone got hurt. Even Casavir and Khelgar put their hands on their weapons, the girl had to be good if she worried them.

Sarina put on her deepest voice to address them, "You guys better back off before I knock some sense into all of you _." Yeah, that sounded intimidating didn't it? Fear me, teenage girls_. "This street is under my protection, if any of you cast a spell here, you'll have the entire Watch to contend with, after I've finished."

It somehow worked. The girls in Blue stepped down from what at first looked like an inevitable fight.

"Very well... this isn't worth it. You're fortunate this time, Qara - next time, you better not let us catch you outside the Academy walls, or else…"

The other one grabbed her friends arm to pull her away, "Come, Glina, I think we've smelled enough of the Docks for one day."

With one last dirty look thrown in Qara's direction for good measure, they stalked back towards the merchant district, robes trailing gracefully in the mud behind them.

Qara laughed bitterly in their direction, before turning toward her new adversaries, "I didn't need your help, those stupid 'wizards' had it coming." She sniped.

Ungrateful little swine.

"Did they? Sounds to me like you were quick to insult them back."

Duncan stormed over, shouting and wildly gesturing at something on the roof of the Sunken Flagon. Sarina turned to look and… oh. Half of the roof timber had been burnt, the red tiles were blackened with soot. It was a wonder the whole thing had not collapsed yet. She sighed wearily, that was going to take some fixing.

Qara shrugged, "It's the wood you use in the rafter's, it sets fire easily. Sorry about that."

Another sorceress who liked fire. Sarina had been like her once, not so many years ago. She recognised the youthful arrogance, the smug superiority, and cringed at the memory. She'd been such a little shit as a teenager, it was lucky Daeghun didn't kick her out the way she once acted. But he hadn't, he was patient, giving her chance after chance to improve her attitude until one day she finally realised what a complete bloody idiot she was. Tears threatened her eyelashes, as lump grew in her throat. Daeghun had taught her how to control her anger, and the magic, to not let it get out of hand. He may not have been the most affectionate of fathers, but he had tried.

She glanced at Qara, sulking moodily at Duncan. She seemed to realise she was in a considerable amount of trouble, and began to look a little nervous behind all that swagger. It was obvious no one else was going to give her the same chance that Daeghun had once given her. What was it one the girls had said? That none of the other attendees at the academy liked this Qara? That must have hurt, probably explained her act of bravado and defensiveness. Duncan wasn't going to like this one bit.


	7. Sage Advice

The Blacklake district. Finally, Captain Brelaina had relented and had given Sarina and company access. Ever since the wizard, Sand, had scryed her silver shards, she had grown increasingly desperate to find out what in nine hells they actually _were_. Elanee had helpfully pointed out that the strange creatures that attacked West Harbour had not yet given up their search. In place of ruthless assassins as reported, the mottled creatures had pounced on them in a warehouse, in the merchant quarter of all places, not-so-subtly reminding them that the threat still remained.

 

They marched through the large cobbled square overlooking Blakelake itself, studying the sumptuous mansions that stood glittering in the warm afternoon sun. It seemed like they were finally making progress in the quest for answers, after so long serving the Watch in the run down Docks. They all seemed to enjoy the change of scenery, all apart from Qara who kept tossing dark looks towards the direction of the Neverwinter mage’s academy, hands curling into fists. It was obvious she was itching to burn it while the other witches studied inside. Qara would be a difficult young sorceress to reign in if things did get out of hand.

 Casavir also didn’t seem to be enjoying the search for Aldanon’s location. He kept his eyes downcast, still keeping his distance from Sarina, until she caught him staring glumly at her from over her shoulder. He ran a frustrated hand through dark hair, and walked over like a convicted man on his way to the Gallows.

“My lady, could I talk to you, alone for a moment?”

His awkwardness was catching, she waved the others to give them space, before motioning him over to the stone wall overlooking the lake. At least that way they could admire the pretty view instead of having to face one another. She sat down heavily, awkwardly staring at the beautiful lake, suddenly feeling too shy to look straight at him. He leant against the stone, eyes also fixed upon the choppy, blue water.

“I’d like to apologise, for my behaviour the other night. I am – ashamed - for letting the wine cloud my judgement. I spoke inappropriately, and would hope you could forgive me for this… transgression. You have my word that it certainly shall not happen again.”

He sounded contrite, serious, back to the cold civility that all Paladins were famed for. And it saddened her a great deal. This was the real Casavir; the tipsy, blushing man that chuckled at her bad jokes was just a one off encounter, likely never to be seen again, at least in her company. She chanced a look at him, immediately regretting the decision when her heart skipped at the sight. It was well past time to quash these small feelings of attraction.

She grimaced, trying to form her features into a comforting smile, “It’s fine, please don’t apologise. It was nice, you were sweet.”

 His eyes widened only very slightly, but his face still seemed set, emotionless. She continued quickly. “If anyone should be apologising, it should be me; I was the one asking you all those personal questions about Callum and leaving Neverwinter. I had no right to. You do me a great service, following me, helping in my search for answers. I wouldn’t want to jeopardise that by demanding… ”

 

“No. No, I understand. You have an important goal, even if you are unsure of the finer details. You need to surround yourself the people you trust, my lady. And to do that you need to _know_ them inside, and out.  I only hope my behaviour that night hasn’t tainted your opinion of my intentions.”

“It hasn’t Casavir, I promise it will take a lot more than that for me to doubt your good intentions. Friends?” She offered her hand in what she intended to be an unserious handshake, to break the tension. He shook it firmly, giving no sign of playing along with the joke. She bit back a sigh.

“So, how does it feel being back here? This is where you grew up right?”

Blacklake was beautiful, it was easy to see why anyone would want to protect it at great cost. He had every right to be proud to hail from a place like this. Casavir however, looked doubtful.

“Wait! Sorry, I can’t believe I’ve just asked you another intimately personal question so soon…”

He waved off her apology before she’d finished, “I used to live just down that street in fact, before I joined the order of Tyr at sixteen years old. Though this place hasn’t felt like home for many years now.”

She sensed although he’d obliged her by answering the question, he wasn’t quite in the mood for bringing up any more of his past. “Yeah I get that. Say, I don’t suppose you remember which house is Aldanon’s by any chance?”

He peered past her to a mansion overlooking the square. “I believe it is that one over there.”

“Great! Do you remember that from when you were young?”

“No, there’s a large sign above the door. And it’s the only one with a large patrol of City Watch outside.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, “Bloody hells.”

 

 

Sarina plastered her best winning smile as she sauntered toward the Watch patrol. She recognised some of them from her garrison, which she hoped would make them less obtrusive to letting her enter.

“Gentlemen! Hope you’re all well. Is there some issue with the man that lives here?”

The largest turned around to face her and she recognised the man instantly; Cormick, another member of the Watch who hailed from West Harbour. And one that unfortunately didn’t view Watch rules as flexible as she did. If anyone was going to be difficult in letting her enter the house, it would be him.

“Sarina, up to no good again? We’ve been ordered to set up shop here, until whoever is responsible for these murders has been caught. One of the higher-ups seems to think there’s a pattern to them, and that the Sage who lives here could be a target. I thought you and your friends were only permitted in the Docks and Merchant district? What _are_ you doing here?” his eyes narrowed suspiciously. He had no right to question her on this, she had permission from Captain Brelaina herself, damn him.

It took all of her effort not to roll her eyes, “Got permission from the Captain to speak to Aldanon. On a private matter. So if you’ll just excuse us…”

“Wait a moment Guardsman, let me see that.”

She smiled sweetly again as he snatched Brelaina’s written permission from her hand. Playing by the rules could sometimes work out rather well, especially if that meant winding up insufferable jobs-worth’s like Cormick Marshall. The man would rather the City Watch be regimented and disciplined like a military unit. She almost felt sorry for the poor guards that fell under his command. Thankfully Captain Brelaina also understood that rules could be bent occasionally to serve the greater good, an outlook that suited Sarina just fine.

Sarina mock- saluted Cormick, “Carry on guardsman.”

Elanee and Casavir did not look impressed.

 

 

 

After some bargaining at the door, Aldanon permitted them entry to his grand, old home.  It was dark inside the clutter-filled mansion, with lanterns dimly lit already even though it was the middle of the day. Aldanon himself was an elderly man with long white hair and beard, he looked a stereotypical mad old wizard, matching his surroundings perfectly.

“Well met, well met. It is lovely to have guests! I must confess, I am rather reclusive these days. Lately with all the troubles – I’ve even had to put protective wards around my home.”

“Wards?”

“Ah yes, I’ve seen shadowy figures sneaking around at night, it’s obvious what they want.”

“Erm, what do they want?”

He began to stroke his beard thoughtfully, all he needed now was a big point-y hat and he’d be the picture of ‘crazy old wizard’.

“Why, my house of course! As if I’d ever sell it! Back when I first settled in Neverwinter, my humble abode was on the outskirts of Blacklake, bordering acres of untouched wilderness. Now with Neverwinter being rebuilt following all that plague nonsense several years ago…”

Casavir shifted uncomfortably at that, somehow managing to frown even more intensely than usual. What was his problem?

“…my property went from the periphery to being right on the main thoroughfare of the "rich" part of Neverwinter. All the nobility wants to live in Blacklake, but there's no more room. So lately they've been trying various ways to convince me to sell my land.”

“Bought a house with rocketing equity, not bad at all. How do they try and get you to leave?”

“Well first they tried offering me _ridiculous_ amounts of gold. What do I need with more gold?”

Neeshka gasped, “I WISH people would give that question a little more thought!”

Sarina laughed under her breath. Gold probably didn’t mean much to a mad old Sage living alone in a house like this. The crazy old sod was probably richer than Nasher himself.

“Anyway, it matters not. You came here for a reason yes?”

“It’s a long story…”

 

 

“You've certainly come to the right place. A while ago I found another shard, with properties similar to the ones you possess. If you'd like some answers, I'll gladly run some tests on your shards. I have just enough quicksilver to do it.”

She reached into her pack and pulled out the unnaturally cold shards, “Please, I would be very grateful.”

“Thank you, I’ll be right back with these.”

She turned to the others, “Might as well get comfy I guess.”

She sat on an old satin couch and began leafing through the yellowing books on the side table next it while the others followed suit. They probably looked a sight, several heavily-armed people rooting through an old man’s book collection. Khelgar leaned on his axe, his legs swinging off the couch as his feet didn’t quite reach the floor, “Hey boss! Remember the last time someone examined those shards?”

“Sand you mean? Yeah I remember that, you howled your ass off when that blast knocked us all off our feet.”

He chuckled deeply, “Ahh good times. Seriously though, you don’t think the same will happen to the old man? Doesn’t look like he’d survive being blown over like that.”

“Sod. Think we should check on him?”

Neeshka waved her hand. “Nah, he’ll be fine!”

 

Aldanon managed to examine the shards and return thankfully intact.

“Well, I learnt quite a bit. Quite a lot actually.”

He carefully passed the shards over to Sarina with trembling hands that shook with age. “It appears these shards contain latent magical energy, caused either by a strong enchantment… or the method of their destruction.  Are you familiar with the Githyanki?”

“…”

Aldanon grinned, more than happy to impart his knowledge, “Well, the githyanki are a race of beings that live on the Astral plane. Ages ago, the ancestors of the githyanki were human, and inhabited another plane of existence, where they were enslaved by the illithids, or mind flayers. Then came Gith. Little is known about her outside the githyanki, but she led the rebellion to free her people of the illithids, and is considered the hero and founder of the githyanki people. I believe the shards that you have found are pieces of one of their silver swords. I presume the githyanki have come to Faerun to recover the shards.”

“The grey creatures that keep attacking us, that must be what they are.”

Sarina re-opened her pack to peer at the shards, they had a strange silver sheen that was barely visible to the naked eye, an otherworldly glow. Which was funny because if Aldanon was correct, that’s exactly what they were, ‘otherworldly’.  Not of this Plane. _Creepy_. And the githyanki seemed desperate to get the damn things back and punish them all for having audacity to get mixed up in their mess.

She groaned, “Wonderful. Is there anymore you could tell us about the shards?”

Aldanon resumed the stroking of his white beard, “I only wish I knew more. Ammon Jerro was the real expert, he actually possessed a real sword of Gith.”

“He did? Do you know where this Jerro might be?”

“Well he’s dead now, poor fellow. Though I suppose the Jerro family may still have some of his research? Or at least have the location of Jerro’s Haven? They moved away from Neverwinter after the war if I remember correctly.”

“I’m sorry, Jerro’s Haven?”

“It was a private retreat of some sort, where he went for solitude and to conduct research. I know it exists, but I don't know where. I suspect that the Neverwinter Archives here in Blacklake would have its location.”

The research would definitely help them understand more about the githyanki, their swords and the shards themselves. It was a lead, a good one too, provided Aldanon’s information wasn’t a complete imagining of his. But he didn’t seem THAT past sanity yet, poor sod.

“I guess it’s a trip to archives then, thank you Aldanon. You’ve been a great help.”

“Thank you for your visit, it’s been quite enlightening really. Oh – and before I forget, here.”

He carefully placed his silver shard in her hands.

“A- Aldanon I couldn’t...”

“Nonsense, I've no use for it any longer, and who knows, you may gather more.”

 


	8. The Gith Attack the Inn

SHANDRA!  Bloody Shandra Jerro. It was only a few months ago when they’d first met Shandra, during a rather unfortunate incident involving her fully-stocked barn and several, angry, pyro-loving Lizardmen (that wasn’t really their fault). It was a funny old realm really, Sarina thought, what _were_ the chances? Shandra on the other hand, did not find the coincidence funny one bit, especially after watching her family home burn to the ground and then get attacked by what they now knew were githyanki. The Githyanki has somehow discovered Shandra’s bloodline and were also after getting into her grandfather’s haven, using the woman herself to somehow open the door. It was actually a damn good job they turned up when they did, Shandra could have a little grateful for that at least, she thought.

She pushed the open the door in the Sunken Flagon, gesturing Shandra inside while hoping Duncan wouldn’t mind another guest taking up one of his rooms. He’d already made several choice remarks about her companions taking up rooms instead of paying customers, so she’d upped his portion of the loot they found while adventuring. The extra gemstones beneath his bed had shut him up pretty sharpish. But she knew another travelling companion staying at his inn posed the risk of annoying him further. Luckily, it seemed that Duncan was in a rather good mood that day.

“Well now, I see you’ve brought someone new into my establishment. Now who is this young lady?”

“This is Shandra – Shandra meet Duncan. Duncan, Shandra.”

He whipped his stained apron off in a flash and smoothed back his greying chestnut hair. Apparently Duncan was in an even better mood after being introduced to the lovely Shandra. Sarina cringed. She may have be safer back with the bloody githyanki.

“Please lass, come in, come in. Make yourself at home. This here is the Sunken Flagon – I own the place, you’ll be safe here.”

He whipped around to where Grobnar was stood, transfixed, “Grobnar, play a tune or something, make the lady feel welcome.”

“Why, of course, I was just thinking of compos-“

“Look we don’t need a lecture on what passes through your head and out your mouth! Just play.”

Sarina shot Duncan a ‘What the hell?’ eyebrow then looked apologetically at Shandra.“That's my Uncle, by the way. You can trust him.”

“Hmm. All right, I agreed to let you bring me here, now I want some answers. What happened at my farm? Who were those creatures? And why were they after me?”

_You’re a key somehow, to your grandpa’s old laboratory. Other than that… buggered if I know sweetheart._

“I don’t have many answers, I was hoping you would have some.” She sat down wearily, placing her aching feet on the chair in front. The move seemed to irritate Shandra as much as the lie did.

“My farm, my sole income and family home, was just attacked by monsters and burnt to the ground! And again you turn up right on cue as the trouble starts. You must know something!”

“What? You never heard of co-incidences?”

Neeshka let out an excited “Ooh!” as Shandra advanced towards her, knocking chairs out of her way as her hands curled into fists. She was quite sure the farm girl was going to kick her head in, could probably get some damn good punches in before her companions pulled her off. The woman had arms bigger than most tavern brawlers, probably honed after years of hard farm work. Sarina didn’t fancy her chances in a man to man fight, nor did she fancy inevitably having to reset her nose later that night.

“OK! I’m sorry. That was shitty of me, you deserve a better answer than that. It’s just been a long day for us too. Truth is we still don’t know a lot ourselves. But we know that the githyanki didn't want to kill you - they were after information.” Sarina shrugged.

Casavir stepped toward Shandra, hands raised slightly to show he wasn’t foe, he’d had previous experience of bargaining with disgruntled women apparently,” Shandra, we realise this is difficult, but your life is in danger. I swear to you, we are trying to protect you, not make more trouble for you.”

And it worked rather well, the heat left Shandra in an instant.

“Oh, all right, sorry. Guess the whole thing’s hard to take all at once.”

Neehska folded her arms and clicked her tongue, “A little Paladin charm sure calmed her quick.”

That was rather snippy for Neeshka, Sarina thought. She didn’t even know the woman yet.

It was unbelievable, a pretty lady had turned up and everyone was either fawning all over her or getting a tad jealous. Sarina was neither thankyouverymuch; that hot irritation she was feeling, was down to embarrassing companions not jealousy.  She didn’t care a jot. Nope…

Poor Shandra just looked confused. “But… what could I know that is so important?”

“It’s not what you know, but what Ammon Jerro knew. Do you know anything about him Shandra?”

She looked completely lost now. “My grandfather? I heard he was an eccentric, but humble wizard - but he died a long time ago. I-I have no memory of meeting him. But my mother told me that he saw me a few times as a babe, but I was too young to remember. Mother said he would cradle me and sing to me, and I would pull out his beard hairs.”

Khelgar slammed down the tankard he had produced rather quickly, “Eh. Just keep your distance from me lass.”

Sarina snorted once then tried to hide it by coughing. Now probably wasn’t the best time.

“We need the information stored in his Haven.”

“My mother told me about the Haven when I was a child. I thought it was just a tale she used to make me do my chores on time. She always threatened to lock me in there if I wasn't a good girl. Or... something like that. I think she was exaggerating.”

_Yeesh that doesn’t sound good._

 “If Ammon Jerro was "eccentric, but humble," it's not likely his Haven is a place to fear.” Sarina said unconvincingly.

 The Haven probably wasn’t the cosy, relaxing getaway of a sane person, looking to get away from it all. Plus they’d had nothing but bad luck on the journey so far. Hells, maybe it was a nice little haven though, maybe Ammon Jerro picked a lovely little place by the sea to relax in, stranger things had happened, right? Right?

Luckily, not knowing her well enough to know how much of a crap liar she was, Shandra seemed to buy it. “Hmmm. You know, I’ve never thought of it that way. Maybe you’re right. Look, I can barely think, let alone stand. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Casavir smiled politely at Shandra, and the sharp spike of irritation ( _not jealousy_ ) shot through Sarina’s chest again, “Perhaps we should retire. We all could use the rest. Shandra, I believe Duncan has rooms upstairs.”

Duncan shot the paladin a pointed look. “I do have a room to give her.”

“Oh, uh… thanks for the hospitality, uh… Casavir right? I appreciate it.”

He never seemed to be that hospitable around her, she just got plain, resigned obedience.

_Stop that right this second, brain._

“Of course, you have been through a great deal, it is the least we can offer.”

Duncan cleared his throat, “What _I_ can offer he means. MY Inn you know, always eager to help a lass in distress, here at the Sunken Flagon.”

Duncan had it bad. Neeshka nudged her in the ribs, “Think they’ll start fighting over who gets to piss on her first? You know, mark their territory?!”

 

 

It felt like seconds after she had just crawled into bed, that Duncan began shouting in the halls.

“Alarm, we’re being attacked! GET UP!”

She looked down at her state of undress, and cursed herself for not investing in some more conservative sleepwear. She didn’t even have time to grab a robe as three githyanki burst into the room. They raised their viscous looking weapons and stalked forward to set upon her. She grabbed her Quarterstaff, lying just under her bed and swung it in front of her to try to repel them as she summoned her magic. As the nearest swung it’s sword down, she cast Ice Storm to freeze them in their place, giving her more time to figure out how to kill them quickly. Its sword sliced her forearm neatly as it came to a slow stop, in cased in ice.  She hissed and pulled her bloodied arm off the blade.

Unfortunately, ice spells weren’t her strongest suit, and her attackers soon broke through the layer of ice trapping them, weakened but still deadly. Luckily for her, it was _just_ enough time to cast a Firestorm. She cast then stood back and watched as the remaining ice turned to water and then began to boil on their grey skin. They howled in pain as the flames licked them, one fell as the remaining two gave one last shot at slashing her, forcing her to jump onto the bed out of the way. After a few more seconds of ungracefully trying to dodge out of harm’s way, she finally dared breathed a sigh of relief as they fell forward, scorched. Kicking the stinking remains off her bed, she cringed as they left black, charred marks on the ruined bed covers. One of the many joys of being a sorceress.

There were sounds of screaming and shouting echoing through the halls. She jumped over the charred bodies and ran through the hall towards the common room. Duncan had neatly killed two githyanki and was making the final mortal cuts on the third. He was well skilled with a blade, probably from his time as an adventurer before the Sunken Flagon. She sent a weak Magic Missile at the creature to help him finish it off. He deftly kicked the corpse away as it fell toward him.

“There’s more in the Common room, go!”

She didn’t need to be told twice. The common room was filled with the Gith, fighting ruthlessly with each of her companions. Grobnar was firing bolt after bolt from his crossbow from upon the bar top just out of reach from the Gith’s reach. Beside him, Qara was cast devastating Firebursts, far stronger than any she could ever dream of conjuring. The white hot bursts torched all the Gith surrounding them within seconds, and devastated the majority of the attacking force instantly. It gave the others precious time to whittle the last of the fight from those that remained.

Elanee was nearest to her, skilfully fighting off a few attackers, and casting furiously in between long swipes of her Sickle. But Sarina noticed the leg of her leather armour was ripped open, with thick red blood flowing through. Sarina cast the mediocre healing spells she knew, hoping to at least staunch the flow of blood. It seemed to work, Elanee smiled gratefully before spinning her Sickle in a full circle, dispatching the last three Gith in one fell swoop.  It was the most graceful, multiple kill she had ever seen.

As the battle came to an end, Khelgar, Neeshka and Casavir began kicking at the fallen Gith, and cutting their throats neatly to make doubly sure there wouldn’t be any last ‘hurrah’s’ from the fallen creatures. Sarina scanned the chaos before her, apart from the disturbing fact they had been attacked in their sleep, she was pleased that her companions had seized victory quickly over the ferocious but un-organised Gith. By some miracle, there didn’t appear to be any losses nor great injuries. But there was something not quite right about it, something was missing.

 


	9. Bishop the Bastard

Duncan grabbed his greying hair forcefully with both hands and yanked it as the horror grew on his face. It would have been a comical sight to watch her crazed uncle wrench out his own hair if the situation hadn’t been so grave.

“The lass, Shandra, she’s been taken! How the hells did those Githyanki even get into the city?” he rasped.

“Does that matter? You best be in a hurry if you want her back.” She turned, gobsmacked. It was that strange, unlikeable tavern regular in leather armour that spoke. He was quite good-looking in a rough, dangerous looking way. Shame he was a complete arsehole. Years ago, she would have been drawn to that dark look in his eye, would have yearned for him and flirted until he had bedded her. Now though, she knew men like that were never worth playing with, and she’d once learnt that the hard way as a younger woman.

He had always kept himself to himself, standing by the fire drinking alone, save for the occasional foul look thrown their way when they got too loud in the evenings. Not one to be put off by initial impressions, Sarina had once tried talking to him;

“…if I wanted to talk to a stupid whore, I’d go to the brothel.”

“Well, don’t forget to say Hi to your mother while you’re there!”

Now though he was chatting away animatedly, although not without sneering, his stubbled lip curled in obvious abhorrence at their proximity. But there was something else in his eyes that made her uneasy, they looked… cruel. He vehemently kicked over a dead Gith, before bending over it and snatching something from its feet.

“This one has a sprig of Duskwood in his boot. That means they come from deep with Luskan territory. And that’s where they’ll be returning.”

Duncan looked displeased, it was obvious he didn’t like the man one bit, “Luskan... that's your territory, Bishop.”

“Yes, but it's not my problem. I'm not going into Luskan territory for some farm girl, and certainly _not_ with any kin of yours, Duncan.” Bishop looked from Duncan to her, eyes narrowing in disgust while he gave an impressive scowl.

  _Bastard._

“You'll help them, Bishop, whether you like it or not.”

Bishop whipped around to face Duncan, disgust growing clearer on his handsome face, “And what makes you th..” He paused, “Calling it due are you Duncan? Fine, it will be worth it to be rid of you - and for such a small price, too. You're a fool, Duncan.”

Duncan folded his arms, gaze unwavering, “A woman's life is at stake, Bishop. If that's what it takes to move you to do the right thing, then so be it.”

By the tone of desperation in his voice, it was clear Duncan liked Shandra, she realised, really liked Shandra, way beyond just another pretty face in his tavern. Good for him.

Bishop strode forward toward her interrupting her thoughts. Stopping within inches of her face, he looked her up and down, apparently unimpressed with what he saw.

“All right, pack your bags and grab your weapons. We're bound for the Luskan border right away. And do try to keep up.”

 

 

They had practically ran all the way into Luskan through the dense forests. Brambles and muddy gorges gave Bishop no reason to slow down, while Sarina had to cast her small healing spells more than once to fix up her exhausted companions.

“Stop. Village over that ridge. Don’t get yourselves spotted.” He sneered quietly. “Something isn’t right.”

They crouched down behind a ridge, peeking out at a small village laying below. It looked much like West harbour in some respects. It was a mixture of wood and Wattle & Daub houses, each with its own small animal pen, surrounding a small stone well. Nothing looked out of the ordinary to her, it was just a small, agricultural village. She shrugged blankly.

Bishop snorted, rolling his eyes. “Gods save us. There’s no villagers, no livestock. It’s too quiet wouldn’t you say?”

_Oh_

The taunting smile fell as he grew serious, “We're on the trail of our friends, though. They're moving fast, but it looks like we've closed in a bit. It’s more than likely this is a trap.”

“What do you think Bishop? Should we wait here? See what happens? We don’t know how many Gith there are to spring this trap.”

Qara sniffed indignantly, “What? We’ve come all this way, now we are going to sit around and wait? Forget that!”

“Now, now little empress. You just listen to your leader here, might just save your life. Keep your eyes open, I smell an ambush.”

Just as the words left Bishop’s mouth, more than a few dozen githyanki spilled out from behind the houses, staring ominously in their direction. They’d been spotted.

 

 

The fight was a hard one, they consumed lots of healing spells and poultices. Worryingly, there weren’t many left for the reminder of the mission, and this had been the last trading post along their route. Sarina wiped the blood and ash from her skin, frowning deeply as she considered their predicament. The githyanki were almost successful in their trap, it was obvious they were getting more and more desperate. Whatever was in Jerro’s Haven, the Gith needed it and they were willing to sacrifice many of their own to get it. If they were to beat the Gith in getting into the Haven, they needed Shandra back immediately. Whatever was in that Haven, would help stop the Githyanki chasing them for good, she just knew it.

Bishop spat on one of the Gith corpses, “Nice little ambush they had here. Decent effort, sloppy execution. They left a large force in this village, which means it will be easier on us when we catch up to the others – as long as we catch them before they go to ground.”

“It’s good that their forces are divided – though it means the remainder will travel faster, and be harder to follow.”

He smiled sardonically, whilst slinging his bow over his back “Eh? Well now, that was an astute observation from you. Aren’t _you_ a bright ray of hope?”

Casavir seemed to take offence, “She was just pointing out the realities of the situation, Bish…”

“I suggest you reign in that attitude of yours, paladin – what, you think our leader can’t speak for herself?”

A strange irritation prickled her chest, why were they both suddenly speaking on her behalf? Yes Casavir had jumped in to defend her honour a bit unnecessarily, but Bishop was speaking like he’d known her for years. They were probably just using her to pick a fight with one another, she conceded.

“It was not my intention to speak for her.” Casavir spoke quietly, his anger cracking through the calm façade.

“Yeah? Then don't - and maybe next time you'll sound convincing.”

Bishop turned to her, “What I was _going_ to say is our leader's right... and what's more, our friends won't be leaving an obvious trail this time, since they don't have the men to bait any more ambushes.”

“Then let’s move.”

They set out on the trail once again, battling as quietly as possible through the tall undergrowth. Qara happily twirled her Quarterstaff around her, robes splaying out as she spun elegantly. “That was fun – like target practice, except with _real_ targets. Maybe you should let me out of that stinking tavern more often.”

Sarina laughed, “Think you’ll ever get tired of cremating big, bad, evil creatures alive, Qara?”

“Erm… Hells no!”

“Ha! Atta girl.”

Bishop nodded sagely through his position up front, “Fight was a little difficult, but we handled it – more than could be said for those pathetic villagers. Hiding in their homes like scared mice. I’m surprised there’s still some left after that. ”

It was a shitty thing to say but she chose not to retort. Sometimes it wasn’t worth the fight, something she’d quickly twigged was Bishop’s main motivation in saying such vile things. He seemed to really enjoy taunting people into arguing with him. She began to count down in her head as she knew someone else would fall into his trap, leading to another blazing row.

“The githyanki are not common soldiers, and the villagers are not veterans of battle like we are. This is not the first time the githyanki have appeared at a village unawares - surprise and ambushes favour them. I think the behaviour of the villagers can be forgiven.” Casavir snapped right on cue, shaking his head incredulously.

“We were the reason the githyanki were here. It’s not the fault of the villagers.” She said, conceding neutrality in his defence.

She thought of those who had died along her journey from West Harbour, because of her proximity. The villagers in West Harbour and those in the village they had just passed, their blood on her hands as well as the Githyanki’s. Whether it was indirectly her fault or not, it was getting harder and harder to look at herself in the mirror these days.

“…those villagers didn’t deserve to live. If you aren’t willing to kill for something, how important can it be?”

“Something being what Bishop? The chance of not being slain unexpectedly in your own home?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, “All those villagers died because they were too cowardly to _try_. You know that’s the truth. If even if it was futile, if a few of them had tried to fight back, more of them could have gotten away. Now half of them lay dead and it is entirely their own fault.”

Rage building, she opened her mouth to argue back, but Casavir beat her to it. His voice unusually low and dangerous. Bishop was apparently able to crack through his measured calm so easily.

“Fighting is not the only option Bishop - and a willingness to die is not always a testament to what one believes.”

“Is it not?” Bishop smirked cruelly. It was what he wanted from the beginning, someone to argue with. And he was enjoying it. He seemed to thrive on negative attention, and annoyingly, Casavir was unwittingly playing right into it. Bishop stopped in his tracks to leer at the Paladin.

“You keep telling yourself that, _Holy man_. I heard a little about Old Owl Well, wonder what you were willing to die for there, eh?”

Casavir stood still, mouth stuck open as he stared. How the hell did Bishop know that about him? Sarina knew she’d have to end things now, before it got ugly and Shandra was lost forever because of their inability to work together.

“Shut it now, both of you. The longer we spend arguing here, the further those things take Shandra out of our reach. Move.”

Casavir snapped his mouth shut before casting his eyes down. His normally blank face looked quite indignant, hurt even. She resolved to smooth things over with him later once they were back at the Flagon. But not before briefly wondering why half their comradeship seemed consist of one party apologising to the other. Perhaps it was like this with all Paladins; intentionally or not, they could wield guilt almost better than they could blessed weapons.

Bishop leered as he returned to forging their path through the forest, he knew his words had hit their mark and it clearly pleased him no end.

_Dickhead_

“Hey wait!” a woman came running out of the empty village, just as they were nearly out of sight.

She was white with fear but appeared relived to see them, “Forgive me… you are hunting a woman, Shandra Jerro?”

“Yes we are, have you seen her?”

“Those creatures, we heard her screaming as they were carrying her off. I know her from market days - I tried to call out to her, but... I saw those creatures heading towards the mountains in the North and East, they barely have an hour on you. And thank you for saving us from those creatures, I can't than-“

“It’s no trouble, we’ll get Shandra back.” She seemed a little heartened by that, at least.

“We’ll promise no such thing! In fact, she could be well dead by now… Now run back home with the rest of your scared kinsfolk.” Bishop scoffed, eyes narrowed in revulsion.

“Good gods, have you got any redeeming qualities? Forgive him, it takes a dog to hunt dogs.”

He laughed loudly, “ _That’s_ the truth – ah I think I’ll this journey.”

 


	10. Deals With Devils

They met a strange, young boy on the way out of Ember. He was standing, back ramrod straight and eyes staring forward, unseeing until they were right before him. As Sarina knelt before him, his eyes widened in horror,

“It’s you… you’re the one who will destroy Ember!”

 He prophesised that Ember would be destroyed by her. That all of its surviving inhabitant’s would be slain save for him, but only on the bizarre condition that Bishop handed over his prize dagger. Surprisingly, Bishop did hand over his Dagger, but only after some fierce argument and biting insults to all present.

Chilling prophesy aside, there was something… _odd_ about the boy. Something that made Sarina believe his words without question. The air around him crackled unseen with powerful magic, and his stare saw far beyond that what was in front of him.  Perhaps he really was a Seer. She only hoped his mysterious powers had misread Ember’s future, for the villager’s, and for her own sake.

 

They found the mountain described to them by the woman in Ember, and confirmed by Bishop’s exemplary tracking skills.  It was home to an intricate cave system at its peak, with several well-guarded Githyanki Watch posts on the way up to the summit. As well as a tracker, Bishop also proved himself an adept archer, picking off enemies with well-placed arrows and occasionally artfully stabbing with twin daggers if any Gith came in too close.

“He may be a shit, but he’s damn useful to have around.” As Khelgar succinctly put it.

 With Khelgar and Casavir on the frontal assault, Neeshka, Bishop & Elanee picking off flanking enemies, and herself, Qara & Grobnar firing off spells and arrows from a ranged distance, they proved a very effective fighting unit. Although she conceded, Casavir and Khelgar did take the brunt of the damage up front. Her healing spells were still mediocre at best, meaning a lot of time was spent healing them after each fight. What they needed was another fighter or warrior to help them take the heat, or even better, a dedicated healer to constantly work on keeping them from injury. Perhaps one day when all this business with the Gith was over, she’d train how to be a proper healer. Right from when she was a youngster, she’d focused her magic on elemental, destructive spells. She’d only use small to medium healing powers when things got desperate, which had never really been the case in sleepy, safe West Harbour. Ever since this ridiculous quest had started for the silver shards however, the little healing magic they knew had been in more demand than ever before. Casavir and Grobnar were both in the same predicament, they had some healing powers, but they were secondary to their main roles in battle. Plus with Qara being the incredibly talented sorceress that she was, there was little need for two of them to cast destructive spells. They wouldn’t be fighting the Githyanki forever she concluded, and healers were always in demand wherever they went…

 

After a few hours battling through the watch posts, they were finally stalking through the entrance to the Githyanki hideout at the summit. As well as a rescue mission, Sarina thought it felt like an ending of some sort. She’d finally get the answer to why the Gith were chasing her, hear in their own words why they had caused so much death and destruction to retrieve their silver shards.

If the Githyanki left her alone after this confrontation, perhaps she’d be able to return home to West Harbour. They’d all get to go home if they succeeded here. It was a pleasing thought, though of course she’d miss her close companions (save Bishop, the new hire was a colossal prick). But Shandra would be rescued and go back to her farm to rebuild, Khelgar could finally train to be a monk, whatever was hidden in Jerro’s Haven could fester there for somebody else to uncover.…

Their quest was nearly over.

_Time to finish what they started in West Harbour._

No sooner than they were all through the entrance, a horribly familiar face stood in their path. It was the Githyanki mage that had killed Amie, all those months ago back in West Harbour. It was flanked by at least a dozen Gith warriors, and posed archers. Recognition flitted across its green, mottled face, as though it too knew this confrontation was a significant one for the both of them, “Zeeaire has foretold your coming, Kalach-Cha. She has sent me here to end you.”

“I’m surprised you’re talking to me, you didn’t give my best friend Amie that chance back in West Harbour. Do you remember?” She spat, fighting to keep her rage under control. Her fingers itched to burn it where it stood, just as it had burnt poor Amie without a second thought.

“I enjoy knowing my prey, Kalach-Cha. I find it sweetens the taste of their death. Zeeaire allows me this luxury.”

“Stop calling me that name, what does it even mean?”

The Githyanki shook its head, as though disbelieving at the level of stupidity before it; “Kalach-Cha is the brand given to one who not only steals a silver sword, but destroys the sword to hide the crime and then impudently carries its shards.”

Sarina could feel the rage building ever higher, flames danced through her fingertips and began to encircle up her arms as her fists shook. She sensed movement close behind her and tensed. She recognised Casavir as he quietly moved behind her and put his hand lightly on her shoulder, trying to calm her wordlessly. She almost shrugged it off, feeling her rage instinctively re-direct to him, but quickly accepted it as it was meant. It wasn’t a controlling gesture, he knew she wouldn’t find the answers she wanted if she lost control.

Feeling the rage settle to a more manageable level, she wiped a hand down her face, “I didn’t take the sword Gith, and I certainly didn’t break the sword into pieces. I gathered the other shards to try and find answers, find out why you were hunting me.”

The Gith seemed to be getting equally enraged, gesturing wildly and spitting as it roared; “You lie, Kalach-Cha! You gather the shards to use their power, nothing more. I can feel the stink of your corruption, mixed with the energy of the shards you possess. You taint them with the filth of your kind.”

“That’s _not_ true. Why won’t you listen?!”

It drew a staff from the scabbard on its back, motioning the many Gith warriors behind it to forward the attack. The gith had obviously decided to answer no more questions. She’d have to get answers from another.

“This is done. You will pay for your crimes Kalch..”

It was interrupted by a dazzling Fire Burst, Sarina cast channelling all her rage, grief and frustration into one white hot spell.

“This is for Amie, you fucking bitch!”

A wall of fire from Qara sprang up around the Gith’s feet, burning them from below as the Burst bloomed flame around them. Her companions charged forward, unharmed by the flames, cutting down the Gith as they tried to fight back through the chaos. Sarina fought her way up to Amie’s killer, losing all her sorcerer’s instincts to fight from a distance. The Gith was badly burnt but still fighting fiercely. As it turned to Sarina, she raised her Staff over her head and brought it crashing down on its skull with all her strength. She thought she’d feel a rush of relief as it fell to the floor, head crushed, a sense of justice perhaps, but nothing came.

 

Once the last had fallen, Casavir walked quietly over as the others scavenged the corpses for anything useful. He motioned her to hold out her right arm, eyebrow quirked in question. As she held it out as asked, he took it gently, and began to heal a cut she didn’t even realise she had received during the fight.

“Do you think I was irrational, killing that Gith as I did?”

It was more of a statement than a question. He flicked his eyes to up to hers, guarded as usual.

“I understand the anger, and the need for retribution for losing those you love, my lady. I really do.” He paused, as he considered his next words. “But you need answers, and you won’t get those if you kill the Githyanki on sight. Hear their words, find out their motives, otherwise you’ll never know the truth.”

She nodded, slowly pulling her now healed arm from him. “Thank you.”

 

They made their way deeper still into the intricate cave system, dispatching the small groups of Gith resistance along the way. The Githyanki were saving the bulk of their force for a large attack, only throwing a token show of force to slow their progress through the mountain. Neeshka stopped dead in her tracks at the front of the group, growling uncharacteristically as they came to an end in one of the tunnels. In the passage ahead, there was a devil, bound by a summoning circle, being tormented by three Succumbi. It calmly watched them as they approached then dispatched the attacking Succumbi, smiling knowingly as though it thoroughly enjoyed watching its tormentors get slain.

Neeshka hissed in Sarina’s ear, “Careful, there’s something strange about this one - ‘Mephasm’, I think he’s called, from what I remember. He’s making my skin itch.”

She gave a small nod in assent before stepping toward the circle, hands together behind her back to feign confidence for the encounter. She’d never had dealings with a devil before, or even a full demon for that matter. Probably had been very lucky in that respect up until that point. The devil regarded her calmly, before pursing its black lips and speaking softly;

“Well met, I am most grateful for to you for ridding me of those nuisances. Regardless of your intent here, you’re actions have benefited me. I wish to help you in return, if you would allow it.”

“Your offer most likely has a great many catches, and I have precious little patience.”

Its smile didn’t falter, though its eyes shone annoyance, perhaps it thought it could trick them a little more easily.

“You see mortal, I am not here by choice. I was bound to this circle by the Githyanki... old enemies of yours, I believe. Once bound, I was forced to shape the barrier you see ahead, to prevent any trespass.”

Sarina studied it, considering the options. Magical barriers could be very difficult to dismantle without the original caster, they needed the devil to dispel it and he knew he possessed what they wanted. He obviously knew he already had the upper hand. Everyone knew there was always a catch when dealing with devils and demons, always. The Devil lowered his eyes, feigning modesty.

“Similar to the Githyanki portals, this barrier exists outside this plane. It has been shaped into an extradimensional wall through which nothing may pass.   It cannot be dispelled, but my presence here feeds it and allows it to maintain its shape. If you were to banish me however…”

“Well, devil?”

“You can banish me by speaking my true name... and of course, I will need your promise that you will use it only to banish me.”

The only way to pass was to free him, obviously not something she relished the thought of. If only there was some other way to dispel the barrier without freeing its contents entirely. An idea sparked in Sarina’s head and she smiled wickedly, feeling quite pleased with herself, “Mephasm, I command you to join my party and kill all those who oppose me!”

It howled in laughter at her poor attempt, as flames from the hells leapt through the portal widening at its feet. Mephasm continued laughing as the binding circle disintegrated like ashes in the wind.

_Whoops_

“Goodbye Mortal, we will meet again soon.”

He disappeared suddenly, leaving them staring at the blank space where it had stood. She cringed at her own stupidity as the others turned to stare at her incredulously. Of course the devil would find a way out of doing her bidding, what _was_ she thinking trying to trick one?

Bishop broke the uncomfortable silence by laughing almost hysterically, “I can’t believe you tried to bind him to fight for you. That was by far the stupidest thing I’ve seen in a long time. Bravo.”

Her cheeks flamed, red as hells fire, “It _might_ have worked!”

 


	11. The Worsening Threat

“That’s just great, another one!” Neeshka chirruped from somewhere behind her. This demon looked huge compared with Mephasm, but not at all human-like as he had. Everything about it seemed unnatural, _wrong_. It almost filled the cavern, its long sharp spines on its back scraped the ceiling as it stepped forward to face them. This creature would be royally tough to kill, there was no way they’d leave that fight unscathed, even if they won.

Casavir slowly drew his sword, eyeing the beast critically, “A hezrou demon... keep your distance, they are said to be incredibly strong.”

The demon wrinkled its squat nose as it sniffed their scent in the dank cave air, baring its yellow teeth at them as it hunched down, ready to spring, “All our bashing and rending have failed to open this door, but our claws will tear you easily.”

There was no doubt of that fact, one unlucky Githyanki had obviously gotten too close when they summoned it and was now crunched up under the demon’s massive scaled feet. It was a stark warning of what would happen to them if things did not end well.

 

Bishop grabbed Sarina’s arm to pull her around to face him; “That does it. Let us put some arrows through his eyes and be done with it!”

He hadn’t even bothered to hide his discomfort at the demon under his usual layer as cocky bravado. The situation must have looked dire if even Bishop looked nervous.

“Bishop let me try talking our way out of this, I want to avoid a fight with this thing if possible.”

That lovely little scowl returned to his dirty face, “Just like you did with that devil huh? Some fine work that was. All right, we'll wait, for now... but if he makes a move, I'm letting arrows fly.”

The demon stomped down on the carcass beneath it, tired of waiting for them to reply, “Why do you wait mortal? Do you fear to face Zaxis?”

_Well yes actually._

She took a steadying breath and confronted the enormous demon face on, mentally readying herself for battle; “We are both here for the same reason, and that door blocks both our progress does it not?”

“Yes... the door will not yield to Zaxis. The one within, the female gith, has sealed it.”

So the gith weren’t the ones who summoned Zaxis? That was interesting. Someone else wanted the silver shards then, and probably not someone good. Another contender was not a positive development, and it would mean their troubles were far from over. Perhaps Zaxis could be tricked into answering some more questions if she was cautious.

“Won't your master be displeased if you fail him?”

“Yes, his anger will be great. If Zaxis fails his task, he shall be cast down to the hells.”

“It sounds like your master is great indeed.” _Come on keep it coming ugly._

“The master wields great magics... greater than any mortal Zaxis has ever faced. Many demons have been torn from the Lower Planes, now and in the past, to follow him.”

She gulped, trying not to show her disbelief to Zaxis; “So he has summoned others of your kind in the past?”

“Oh yes. Many decades ago, he subverted many demon-kind to his cause. Zaxis was one among many to join his campaign.”

 

 

Nope, definitely not a good development. And as soon as this demon-commander found out the gith didn’t have the silver shards, they’d become yet another enemy trying to hunt her down. One with the power to summon an army of demons from the hells themselves. Life just got better and better for the shard bearer.

But there was a name Aldanon had mentioned, someone who had some connection to the silver shards and Ammon Jerro. And who could conveniently summon demons at will. But it couldn’t be, the King of Shadows had died long ago, or was trapped forever in some nightmare realm where he rightly belonged.

“Your master’s name, was it the King of Shadows?”

“Names mean nothing to Zaxis. They are of no matter - only power and strength are of worth.”

 

 She decided she didn’t need to hear anymore, Zaxis would never tell her the name of his master, and he had given her enough bad news for one day. To send it back, Zaxis would either have to complete its task, or fail completely. And if she guessed correctly, only a Gith or a Githyanki shard could bring down the barrier before them.

“Wait... if your task was to breach the door, you've already failed your master, haven't you?”

It stamped its foot hard on the ground, the shock reverberating throughout the cave, loosening small rocks from the ceiling. Sarina very nearly lost her footing, a disastrous turn only feet away from Zaxis.

“We have succeeded in delaying you long enough – your mission has failed demon! You’re no Gith, there’s no way you can open that barrier.”

“No! Zaxis only needs more time, that is a-“

But it was too late, the flames from the hells rose through a portal at Zaxis’s feet, within seconds he was gone, forced back to the wretched realm he hailed from. His news was troubling though, it meant that even after they’d rescued Shandra and told the Githyanki to stick it, there’d be another unnaturally powerful foe trying to kill them. Not for the first time, she bitterly rued the fate the silver shards had given her. Carrying them was practically a death sentence.  So many people had already died because of the shards, and she probably join them soon at the rate her luck turned.

She skittered over to a large boulder next to the stone wall, bent over double leaning on it for support, and vomited loudly in the silent cavern. After a few painful heaves, she heard her companions whispering nervously to one another. They were probably considering what kind of suicide mission they had inadvertently signed on for in choosing to follow her, she thought. There was no chance her fate would end a good one with the amount of enemies she apparently had. And it was quite obvious they’d probably meet the same unfortunate end at her side. Qara, on the other hand was confidently telling all who listened that she wasn’t afraid, she’d simply burn any army to ash, demon or no. Sarina smiled to herself, that was the kind reckless confidence they needed on this quest.

Khelgar reached up from behind her, patting her heavily on the back with mailed hands.

“Another enemy, and one that can summon a demon army! Ah lass, I just _knew_ travelling with you would be a lot of fun.”

 

 

 

 

The barrier faded from existence, and through the arch, a crowned and ancient Githyanki stood within a complex magical barrier, shaking with silent rage. Dozens of armed Gith flanked her all around, whilst Shandra sat in a large cage, looking thankfully unharmed.

 

“Though these demons are unanticipated, your arrival was not, human. I have seen it burning brightly in my visions for some time. How long did you think you could escape us? You have stolen our shards, defiled them with your touch, and now you will die, Kalach-Cha. ” The crowned gith sneered, her voice echoing loudly in the dim chamber. 

Sarina felt her fury spiral dangerously again at the accusation of stealing. The only thing she’d ever taken was several Githyanki lives in order to keep herself alive. And she was tired of trying to make the Githyanki listen.

“I care little for your reasons, just return the girl now.”

Shandra stood at her mention, cocking her hip and folded her arms, “Trust me, once she gets on your tail you’re tail you’re doomed. She doesn’t shut the hells up.”

“YOU are in no position to demand anything from me Kalach-Cha. You will answer for your crimes, along with this frail thing which carries the last of the Jerro blood.””

There would be no talking their way out of this battle. She needed a little more time to study the intricate barrier that encased the Gith. Facing a barrier of that complexity would take them aeons to penetrate, but there’d be no chance of killing her if they didn’t take it down. But barriers _always_ had one weak spot, if one knew how to find it.

“Maybe if I knew what I’d done wrong, we could settle this without any further violence – hells I may even give the shards up willingly to you if you present a good case.”

 “You have slaughtered many of our people, and you hold in your possession relics sacred to the Githyanki… a silver sword of our people – fragments of it.”

Aldanon had been right, they were shards from a silver sword. The Gith seemed most unimpressed, an enemy that knew nothing of their sins was an ignorant one indeed. And had cast uncertainty, the pause in its words were telling.

“You don’t sound very certain of yourself, madam Gith”

“You put too much importance on your actions and your crime. You have nothing that other thieves have not stolen before. You think there is something special or unique about your crime - or the shards you carry? There is not.”

_So that’s why you send so many Gith to kill me? I don’t think so…_

Casavir shot her a look, the Gith most definitely had lied. It was rather handy having a walking lie-detector fighting alongside them.

“It is as I suspected, this blade is more important to you than anyone knows. It isn’t shards from a simple blade you’re hunting.”

One of the Githyanki that stood close to her, approached their leader cautiously, “Zeeaire, forgive my words but…”

“SILENCE!”

Zeeaire was silent for only a few seconds, but it was enough to confirm that Sarina’s words had hit their mark. The silver swords of the Gith were important, but this one was apparently even more significant than most.

“If you were in the Astral Plane, the Lich Queen would see that you were slowly tortured, killed and then raised again for countless cycles… your crime merits many deaths. But enough of this, I will allow you one last chance to atone for your crime. I will grant you a swift, painless death for you and your companions, if you freely hand over the shards you have taken.”

_Hmm tempting._

Sarina felt the giggle bubble up from the stomach unbidden, borne from a mixture of nerves and near hysteria. These Githyanki were fools, xenophobic idiots who presumed too much and thought too little. They didn’t deserve the shards back, even if they were rightfully theirs.

“For the final time Gith, I HAVEN’T STOLEN ANYTHING!” she swung her pack from her back, lifting out the shards and holding them up for all to see, taunting.

“These were _given_ to me from different people, but I’ll be damned if I hand them over to you while I breathe. I choose to live. If you want them, come and get them.”

 

The Githyanki smiled wickedly, taunting her had been a mistake. Her mottled hand flew open, casting a powerful spell that lifted Sarina off the ground and bound her tightly in the air. She struggled uselessly as the shards flew out of her hands and over to Zeeaire, who caught them neatly.

“Odd… I have all the ones you carry, yet it seems you still possess one.”

Sarina chest began to emanate a bright silver light, it burnt white hot and shook excruciatingly as the Gith’s magic reacted with it. She glanced at her companions to help, but they were all shocked still into place by some kind of spell. This wasn’t good at all.

Zeeaire crooked her fingers as she cast again, “You have a piece of the sword inside you.”

 The shard began to creep ever so slowly through her chest as the Gith summoned it. The pain was unlike anything Sarina had ever felt before, she couldn’t even open her mouth to scream as the shard tore its way through her flesh. Red flashes filled her vision, as she finally began to scream in pure agony. Another few seconds and she’d be dead.

“No you don’t bitch, put her down now!”

Of course, if anyone were to snap out of the strange paralysis first, it would be Khelgar Ironfist. He really was bosom buddy no. 1.

 

 

 

 

“You think this is over? You are wrong Kalach-Cha, the pain you have brought here will be revisited a thousand-fold. The Lich Queen will know of my fall... yes... but it will be too late. What comes for you will be revenge enough.”

They were right, there was another enemy that would hunt the shards. Was it the demon-summoner she referred to? Zeeaire was slipping away fast, any questions she had would have to be answered now before the truth died with the Githyanki matriarch.

“We could have resolved this without fighting, but you brought this on yourself. I...”

“We were never the ones you had to fear. In defying us from retrieving the shards, you have harmed your own people - and everything on your plane. The githyanki will strike at you no longer - this was the last of our strongholds devoted to the recovery of the shards... there will be no more attacks from my people, because it will serve no purpose... you have already sealed your fate.”

“What has this got to do with the Shards, tell me now, quickly!”

 

Zeeaire laughed bitterly, coughing blood onto her grey, scabbed lips as she grimaced.

“The shards you carry, the shard in you, were needed. The sword… they were to be a sword, one that coud… Evil wakes, Kalach-Cha, and in killing me, you now stand alone against what comes.”

“What is that evil?”

Zeeaire slumped to her knees, the horrible rattle of doomed breath clutched at her words, a sure sign she had only seconds of life left.

“An ancient enemy comes for you. This enemy, this King of Shadows... if he succeeds in his plans, your civilisation will become dust, and all life will be consumed by darkness.”

“The King of Shadows is dead. He died in battle many years ago.”

As she said the words, she realised it wasn’t true. He would return, and soon. 

Zeeaire laughed again quietly, the death rattle even louder as she twitched involuntarily, “He lives. He is our mortal enemy, but it is not our realm he seeks to destroy. He is breaking out of the cage we created for him. And he comes for you.”

Sarina grabbed her long, blonde hair, yanking it forcefully from her head in pure frustration. The Githyanki were even worse at rationality than she originally thought. If they only had the foresight to ask instead of take, she probably would have handed the shards over to stop this threat. Their proclivity for killing those who wronged them or simply got in their way had doomed them all. 

“You wanted to reforge the sword to combat this ‘King of Shadows’? You... you fucking _fools._ We could have worked together, formed an alliance to stop him.”

Zeeaire grinned horribly as the last of the life dimmed from her.

“I will see you in death Kalch-Cha. I do not think I have to wait long.”


	12. Two and the Truth

In addition to the two she’d taken from Sarina, Zeeaire had another 2 silver shards on her person. Probably retrieved them from some poor, retired scavenger no doubt. It brought the total in Sarina’s possession to 5, including the one nestled deeply in her chest. Though retrieving that shard would probably kill her near instantly, judging by its proximity to her heart. She’d always hated the ugly, jagged scar that ran from her clavicle to her left breast. It was a grisly memento from the final battle in the Shadow War, which had destroyed West Harbour many years ago. But to think that all this time growing up she’d carried a piece of a magical sword within her, unknowing. Was it that same shard that killed her mother? The thought of the thing that killed her mother, touching her heart unnerved her greatly. Her stomach churned dangerously again, the urge to vomit flooding back as her numb mind tried to process yet another revelation. She had the feeling that there’d be plenty more gut churning revelations along the journey to come.

Meanwhile, Neeshka was picking the lock to Shandra’s cage while the farm girl waited patiently inside. She even seemed a little embarrassed by her unplanned incarceration. But at least she looked every inch the beautiful damsel-in-distress, her wavy long hair was very much free of vomit and gith blood. The image was ruined slightly however, when she folded her massive arms and called out in a very broad, and very common, Neverwinter accent;

“I’m getting so bloody tired of this. You have to let me save you sometime, or else I’ll never be able to pay you back.”

Sarina laughed a little, feeling very slightly less nauseous. Shandra smiled almost shyly in return, a sense of understanding clear in her blue eyes. It was then it struck Sarina exactly how much they had in common. They were both without close family, both without husband and children, despite being well past normal, marriageable age. But more importantly, they both had lost their homes, both had their lives over-turned by the Gith, all because of past events they never even played a part in. It seemed fate had dealt them a similarly shitty hand, simply because they both had the misfortune of having some tenuous link to the Shadow War. Perhaps it would be nice having someone who’d experienced similar trials to talk to, she reckoned, ‘Bonding through adversity’ or some such shite.

Bishop’s drawling voice cut through her thoughts, “Oh there be plenty time for you to pay us back on the way to Neverwinter.”

He was being more of a bully than actually threatening payment. It riled her more than it usually would, but Shandra was more than capable of defending herself.

“You all put me in danger! I'm not paying you a single coin.”

“Well then you'll be paying me another way. My bedroll's a little cold at night - I'm thinking you can fix that.”

_Ew_

Sarina opened her mouth to tell Bishop to shut it before she did something she’d regret, but Casavir’s righteous anger beat her to it. Of course _he’d_ be the first to act if there was a poor maiden having her virtue ridiculed, she thought, her annoyance rising. It was practically his higher calling as a paladin, to defend a besmirched woman’s honour on her behalf.

“I will _not_ have you speaking to her or anyone else that way Bishop.”

Bishop narrowed his eyes at Casavir, his voice sounding no less pleased with himself but more defensive, “Oh really, the holy man, what a surprise. How'd you like it if I left you here in Luskan territory with nothing but your righteousness to keep you company?”

He had him there, they needed him to find a safe path out of Luskan. Casavir stared silently, gripping the pommel of his sword. For someone who managed to keep a blank expression all of the time, it was quite unusual to see the actual hatred for Bishop rolling off him in waves. On the journey, Bishop had been no more than a bit of a bully, so this acute loathing from Casavir was puzzling. She decided she was probably best to stay out of it on the journey home. Still, a little threatening would make her feel much better, and let Shandra know she had her back.

“If you don't watch your tongue, Bishop, I'm cutting it off. You don’t need that to show us back to Neverwinter.”

He grinned salaciously at the empty threat, before dragging his eyes up and down her body, making certain she saw him leer at her rather low cut robe. She fought the instinct to pull up the material, feeling uncomfortably naked under his gaze.

“Jealousy's thick in this little band I see. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten your pretty face, fair leader.”

 It was done as a slight, a mockery instead of actual leering. But instead of coming back with some witty retort, tears prickled at her eyes. Her threat backfired. She was too tired and in shock from the news today to react in her usual, confident manner. His cruel grin faded as the moment passed, and it was clear no real retort was coming. He actually looked disappointed at her reaction.

“Enough of this, let’s head back to the Flagon.”

 

 

Duncan rubbed the back of neck, “When the few that remained returned to the village, no one was alive. Except you... Your mother was there... so much blood and... you were clutched in her bosom, a deep wound in your chest. She'd tried to shield you, but...”

It was as if the words themselves were tiny little barbs, each one stabbing through her chest to join the embedded shard. But it was the truth finally, she’d waited years to find it and with it brought a sense of relief, as well as grief.  Her companions were sitting around Duncan listening intently. Most like Elanee, at least had the grace not to stare, some however watched on unabashed of their interest in the story. She couldn’t bring herself to care right at that moment, she’d waited nearly three decades to hear it. Duncan carried on quietly, eyes glued to a spot somewhere over her right shoulder.

“The shard must have cut right through her and into you. No one knew how you survived. But you did, and your wound sealed itself within days, leaving the scar that you still bear.”

So she’d been right, the shard next to her heart had been the one to kill her mother. That hurt more than any lie or omission of the truth had ever done. She tore her eyes from Duncan’s boots up to his averted eyes. He looked older, regretful.

“You should have told me this sooner Uncle, but… thank you.”

“Believe me, I wanted to. But my brother... well you know what Daeghun’s like…”

Bishop’s drawling voice cut in for the second time, he seemed to have a habit of doing that at the worst possible opportunity, “Why the long faces you two, did somebody die? If so, it sounds like a cause for celebration if you ask me! Grobnar, you worthless half-man, strike up a tune... before I strike you.”

Sarina gave him a dangerous look, but the conversation was over and she was too drained to throw any real heat at him. He’d probably just enjoy the negative attention even if she did, getting a rise out of people seemed to be one of his favourite past times.

“By the way, I’ve decided it would be in both our best interests if you were to stay on with you.” He ventured, far too casually.

“And why on Faerun would you want to do that?”

He raised his hands in defence, a submissive gesture that didn’t look right on him at all, “What? Does a man need a reason? Come now. Duncan's kind request was enough to start this, I think, why not finish it?”

Casavir strode forward to face Bishop, stopping within inches of the slightly smaller man’s face to confront him, “We don’t need any more of your help Bishop. Your part in this mission is over.”

 “Ah, why don’t you let our leader here speak for herself, ‘paladin’, without you speaking for her eh?”

Casavir did not reply. She rubbed her temples, losing patience by the second with the both of them.  Duncan sighed audibly, “No, no. There's no need, Bishop. I'm sorry for before, but you've done more than...”

“Oh, come now, Duncan - I still owe you. And what better way to make it up to you than watching your kin here? After all, a debt is a debt, all the way to the end right?”

He was tormenting Duncan somehow with those words, perhaps repeating something Duncan had said once to him? She hadn’t known him very long, but it was obvious Bishop could be a cruel and vengeful man. But he was a great tracker, and very skilled with a bow. She didn’t trust him a jot, but he had already proven himself extremely useful when he led them to Shandra. And they’d need all the help they could get if they were to stand any hope of a chance against the King of Shadows.

Duncan’s face was still in cold fury. He’d have probably gone for Bishop if Shandra hadn’t have stepped forward just in time, “Ah, not to interrupt or anything, but what happens to me now? I can’t go back to my farm, ashes and all.”

Sarina peered up at her hopefully, “Well I’m not going to force you to stay with us, but we really could use your help to get to Jerro’s Haven.”

She grimaced, sitting down heavily in the chair across from her. But it was all for show, Sarina could see she’d already made up her mind. “Ok, ok. Looks like I’m sticking with you guys.  It’s not like I have much choice anyway.”

 “Not really.” She said as sympathetically as she could right then, “BUT on a lighter note… Welcome to the group Shandra Jerro! It just so happens we have a space for a lovely lady fighter in our vanguard unit. We train everyday apart from weekends, meal times are at 12 and 5. Oh and just a head’s up, on Wednesdays we wear Pink.”

Shandra did her best impression of Casavir’s blank reaction to one of her jokes, the likeness was uncanny.

Bishop slapped his hand on the table, making them both jump, “So, the farm girl’s going to join our band then? Good. We need someone to make up for the paladin – or at least to catch arrows if Grobnar’s already dead. For now I say we crack some of those kegs and drown the Flagon in wine.”

“Best idea you’ve had all day Bishop.”

 


	13. The Love That Could Never Be

They’d spent the last few nights training behind the Flagon during the day, and relaxing together at night. Sarina had spent many hours practising elemental spells with Qara, but had even cornered Grobnar and even Elanee for how to improve her sole healing spell. After the foray into Luskan to rescue Shandra, she’d vowed to improve her healing magic to fulfil what she saw as a missing role in the party’s composition.

Shandra was a natural fighter, and under Casavir’s careful guidance and Khelgar’s over enthusiasm for teaching violence, she was quickly becoming one of the best swordsmen in the docks.  Despite the dislike between Bishop and Casavir, and to a much smaller extent Elanee and Neeshka, they were starting to really come together as an impressive fighting unit, and it made her chest swell with pride as she trained alongside them.

 

It was one such day when Khelgar had finally decided to fully commit to becoming a Monk, and passed two of his three tests with some pointed philosophical questions and careful steering. After a full day’s training, they were all celebrating Khelgar’s progress, sipping away merrily on their favourite table next to the bar; when a clearly high-born, older man approached apprehensively.

“Casavir! Ophala said you had returned, I did not believe it.”

Casavir froze instantly, mug midway in the air. He placed it back down carefully and turned stiffly to face the noble. He stood and was silent for a few long moments before finally speaking, “I should never have left, Mordren. I know that now. You had only my safety in mind, but there are greater things that I should face.”

So this man knew Casavir before he left Neverwinter? This Mordren could create a lot of trouble if he outed Casavir’s return to the relevant authorities (if there were any still stung by his oath breaking, he had assured her there probably wasn’t, but one never knew when duty was involved). It was no wonder Casavir looked uneasy, it was a strange expression on his usually stoic face.

The noble man was unamused by Casavir’s guarded words, “Have your vows robbed you of your sense? By returning, you endanger not only your life, but Ophala as well! Do you care so little for her that you would see Lord Piervall's rage fall upon you both?”

_Ophala? The woman who ran the Moonstone Mask? They were… Oh_

“I intend to answer for it. Ophala committed no crime, and I am the only one who shall suffer.  I will go to Lord Piervall, tell him the truth, and let punishment fall upon me as it should have. I will have no more blood shed for me in this city.”

“Casavir... you were always the stubborn one. Lord Piervall cannot meet with you yet, he’ll kill you on sight. But let me see what I can do, to smooth things with him before you meet. I will try to convince him again what happened was an accident. Until then, keep your head down and say nothing of your return to anyone else. I fear for not only your safety, but Ophala's too. I will contact you again when I hear more.”

They watched Mordren pace angrily out of the Tavern. Neeshka perked up first in the ensuing silence, “So, who's the mark? Smells of nobility.”

“A friend, who has already risked much for my sake.”

She nodded, looking as though she were considering her options, “Looks like he has a lot more to risk, if his purse is any indication. Might be worthwhile to pay his home a visit.”

Sarina wildly gestured for Neeshka to ‘shut the hell up’ as Casavir stared at his mug. She stopped only a split second before he looked back up at her, morosely. She swallowed, realising he was waiting for her to say something. Anything.

“What Neeshka was _trying_ to say is maybe you should visit this Lord Piervall, try to make amends yourself rather than have someone else do it on your behalf. I don’t know, I’ve always found talking it through in-person makes things a lot easier. Apologies never sound as sincere when they’re second-hand.”

He grimaced in reply, and went back to staring at the table. Her heart sank at the sight of his wretchedness. He’d always looked like a man weathering some self-imposed punishment, but to see him so despondent made her irrational side yearn to reach out and comfort him.

 She scolded herself for being such a sap. He was a grown man who had made his own mistakes, no matter how much he tried to act pious. And apparently he’d also left a trail of broken hearts in his travels, so definitely not so pious after all. She’d be damned if she would be added to that list. Men chased after _her,_ not the other way round. OK so that wasn’t quite the truth, but still… Those striking blue eyes stared back at her again, jolting her from her rambling thoughts.

“Yes, you are right my lady. But this is something I cannot do alone, Lord Piervall has a great many armed men to do his bidding, and although I much deserve it, I know I would be cut down before I had chance to speak with him. I need to…” he sighed as he ran a hand through his black hair, mussing it out of its usual neatness, “I promise when we return I will explain everything to you, as I should have done from the start.”

She smiled crookedly to let him know she wasn’t angry with him at this revelation. He softened ever so slightly.

“It’s OK Casavir, come on and get suited. We have to pay to Lord Piervall a visit.”

 

 

As they made to leave the docks, they found a dozen masked men guarded the exit. From the way they held their weapons, it was clear they were well trained. Hired Mercenaries. As they neared the exit, the men attacked without warning, but her companions were ready for them.

 They were soon all rendered unconscious or lay dead, bleeding into the cobbled roads. Casavir reached to check the armour of one of the fallen;

“It seems Lord Piervall has struck quicker than I thought. That can only mean... Ophala! We must go to her at once. If they struck at me, they may have harmed her.”

 

 

The Moonstone mask was busy as usual with noble men and beautiful women passing their evening by drinking expensive wine and making extravagant deals in dark corners. But they hardly took notice as the armed, rag-tag group ran through the throngs of sophisticated party-goers. Casavir was charging through the crowd like a man possessed. He wordlessly led the group upstairs and through the twisting halls until he stopped at a nondescript door. He kicked it open, drawing his sword as he burst inside. Ophala was standing, gazing out the far window. She was as beautiful as ever in a long blue revealing gown that sparkled as she turned, dumbfounded to face them. Her face shone with hope as she saw it was Casavir, before a clear look of sadness and longing crept over her.

Sarina looked at Casavir to find the exact same expression mirrored in his own, and she realised they were once in love. And that some feeling still yet lingered. An older man stepped slowly from by the fireplace, his hand dangerously close to the rapier that hung at his hip. That must have been Lord Piervall; he looked to be in his early fifties, but middle age didn’t diminish his presence. He looked smaller than Casavir, but much more intimidating. Sleek and dangerous.

“Casavir, as I was told. Come to kill me, too?”

Casavir strode forward, unworried by Piervall’s look, fists tightening as he radiated righteous anger.

“Release Ophala. She is not a part of this.”

“I have not harmed her, merely kept her here to keep her safe, keep her out of the way of your… intentions. If you intend to force yourself upon her again, false paladin, then you will speak to _my_ blade.”

_Force himself upon her?!_

“Lord Piervall you LIE!” he roared the final word, shocking them all into stunned silence.

The last of Casavir’s hard-fought self-control disintegrated before their eyes. He raised his sword, pointing it straight for Lord Piervall’s throat in a very un-Paladin like stance. She’d seen him kill hundreds of orcs in hard battle, not showing a hint of emotion. He didn’t even resemble a warrior right then. His anger was terrifying as he swayed towards murdering his rival in cold-blood.

Sarina leapt forward, grabbing and pulling back on Casavir’s raised sword arm with both hands, “No, Casavir, stop! I can’t let you do this! Please you need to talk to him.”

Mordren ran into the fray seemingly out of thin air, “What in the Gods name is going on here? Casavir? You’ve made a grave mistake in coming here.”

Lord Piervall struck the stone fireplace with his Rapier, the metal ringing shrilly in the tense room, “There is nothing to discuss. He killed my son for defending my honour, and he hides behind his Paladin’s vows like a coward. And you Mordren! You know of his crime and protect him regardless?!”

Casavir made to pace toward him but Sarina somehow miraculously held him back, “What? Again you lie!”

Ophala spoke in a rough tone, “Mordren was the one that brought knowledge of Casavir’s return. He gave Lord Piervall the false information on which to act.”

Casavir shook his head disbelieving, “What do you speak of? Mordren is not the guilty one in this, I am.”

“You all have been deceived… by Mordren.” Ophala said quietly, arms wrapped around herself protectively. But somehow Sarina knew she had timed her statement carefully. She’d waited for the fighting to almost break out before her accusation. Nobles and their politics, even in the face of death.

Mordren spat as he stepped backward into the corner of the room, “I had no part in this - now you accuse me of the crime for protecting a friend? Ophala you have no idea of what you speak of!”

“Silence, Mordren! Ophala, my dear, what is this you speak of?” Piervall asked.

She sighed, a single tear tracking its way down her perfect, white cheekbone, “Mordren is behind much of what has happened - including Harcus’ death. He… he loved me, and saw Casavir as a threat. He told Harcus of our… association to provoke him into attacking Casavir, to kill him. He must have thought he get rid of two rivals by pitting them against one another.”

Mordren spat again, shouting hoarsely as his face grew scarlet, “Hear this out if you will, but I deny it. And there is NO proof for the allegations you speak.”

Ophala reached behind her into an ornate silver box, hidden underneath the curtain on the windowsill. She pulled out thick envelopes and handed them deftly to Lord Piervall. The room grew deadly silent as he scanned them quickly. Ophala delicately placed her hand on his arm as he read.

“My dear - the information you and your son should have received were letters held by Mordren - letters he was entrusted with to deliver. Mordren never meant for us to see these, he intended to spin the truth to suit his own desires.  I had a friend retrieve them for me from his home. Take them - they will show Mordren’s guilt in the matter.”

“Those were letters intended for Piervall and Ophala, Mordren - are you admitting that you kept them all this time?” Casavir asked quietly.

“Why I would keep anything from that whore of yours, Casavir, is something you could best answer yourself. You kept _everything_ from her, your feelings, your heart. You cloaked it with lies and distance.  And to see her fawning over you, hungry for your attentions like some dog.”

Sarina shifted uncomfortably, those words stinging awfully familiar. Did Casavir treat all those who got too close like that? She knew her growing affections for him were inappropriate. She decided then and there that it would be wise to reign them in before she had her hopes crushed, like those of Katriona and Ophala. The latter of which, he was still plainly in love with…

“Your words, Mordren - take them back.” Casavir murmured, dangerously low.

“Take them back? If only you’d seen her, Piervall, falling in love day by day to a fool who gave up everything for “paladinhood." He commits adultery with a promised woman then leaves her to rot. To read those letters, those foul letters to him, when she would not even entertain my affections, a man of status, of power, who could have been hers in whole.”

That’s why Casavir had really left Neverwinter. It wasn’t just because of some noble cause, or moral dilemma caused by service to Neverwinter. He had left because he fallen for someone he shouldn’t. He’d killed a man, and in doing so, betrayed his holy vows. For Ophala.

Ophala gasped, covering her mouth with a delicate white hand, “I never wanted you, Mordren – ever. And now you have shown your colours, and betrayed a friend… two friends.”

“You betrayed me, you harlot! And your husband-to-be! Liars and adulterers, all! May you all die as Harcus did. I’ll tell the Watch what truly happened when your bodies lie cold upon the stone floor!”

He rushed towards Ophala, blade raised to slit her throat before they had a chance to react. But Lord Piervall’s Rapier was a mite too quick for him. Piercing skilfully through the heart, Mordren sank to the wooden floor wordlessly, giving them all one last foul look as the life drained from him.

Piervall pulled his blade clean, and wiped it with a flourish of his handkerchief, making a show of not sheathing it, “I cannot let you leave with Ophala, Casavir. She is to stay here, safe with me, as promised.”

“It was never my intention to keep Ophala from you, milord. And I never meant to harm your son.”

Piervall grunted bitterly; “Then my terms are simple - you will admit to the crime, and you shall come between Ophala and I no longer.”

“I never meant to harm Harcus, milord. You must believe me.”

Piervall snapped up, Rapier held out before him dangerously; “Do NOT speak my son’s name. Know this, Casavir - I know Harcus to be of short-temper, and I do not doubt you were forced to defend yourself. But… the crime of Ophala that sparked this…”

“I regret it, milord. Ophala is not to blame for such things. I acted improperly, on feelings that were false.”

Sarina was once told that Paladins could not lie, yet there it was.

Ophala smiled sadly at her betrothed, “He did not touch me, Piervall. And as you have heard, he certainly did not love me.”

Piervall looked at her squarely, eyes narrowed at his fiancée’s obvious lie, “There is much I have heard… yet such tales of the court do not interest me. I seek only your hand, Ophala, not your heart. If this one is no obstacle to you, then there is nothing more to be determined here.”

 “My hand is yours, my lord.  As it always was.”

She smiled shyly, but her eyes remained hard, jaded. It was hard not to feel sympathy for her then. It was hard not to feel sorry for her and Casavir both, in truth.

“Then that is all I ask. I merely wished to hear your words, Casavir - I believe you regret what has happened as much as I.  And there has been enough violence, already. We do not need to tarnish the walls of Neverwinter with more treachery, not with Luskan seeking every chink in our armour. Never come before me again, Casavir - you or any of your allies. Our matter is settled, I forgive you for Harcus, but the wound needs to heal. Until that day, I want you far from me. And I do not wish you to speak to Ophala of this again.”

Ophala bit her lip, “You have done the right thing, Casavir. We must all make sacrifices… and I can bear the loss of this more than the loss of a friend.”

He nodded, looking for a split-second too long at Ophala’s solemn face before turning crisply towards his new companions, “Come, let us go. Forgive us, Lord Piervall… we shall trouble you no longer.”

Sarina waited for them to get well away from the Mask before she pulled gently on Casavir’s elbow, holding him back for a moment out of earshot of the others.

“I’m so sorry Casavir, what happened to you and Ophala was… not fair. You don’t have to explain anything to me, you’re still the same man as the one I met at Old Owl Well as far as I’m concerned. I just… wanted you to know that.”

He paused, mouth open for a slight second before he recovered quickly, “Thank you, my lady.”

And with that he walked onward to catch up with the rest of her companions, the measured Paladin mask firmly back in place.


	14. Sweet Wine & Sour Advocacy

Between the 5 of them squashed onto the table nearest the bar, they’d already finished off four bottles of wine and many shots of whatever liquor Sal had poured. ‘Girl’s night’ as Sarina had ceremoniously dubbed it, had been a roaring success. Qara was already snoring soundly in the corner, using her cloak as a pillow. Meanwhile a voluntary sober Elanee, was taking it turns to shake her head in a disapproving motherly fashion at the others antics, or forcing them to drink cups of water in between goblets of wine,

 “To prevent illness in the morning, healing spells only go so far with hangovers.”

The male members of the party were dotted around the Flagon, talking quietly between themselves or helping Duncan keep an eye on other rowdy patrons in the busy tavern. The weekends were the busiest nights of the week down in the docks, and things could often get quickly out of hand if the trouble-makers weren’t dealt with right away. Luckily for Duncan, Khelgar’s encroaching Monkhood didn’t entail any vows of peace, and he made an excellent doorman. Bishop and even Casavir would sometimes help him out on the rare occasions punters proved too much for the dwarf alone. With any possibility of violence minimised, and the addition of a new excellent Gnome bard, the tavern quickly became one of the most popular on the docks. With the tavern being so noisy on these evenings, it was difficult to get a full night’s rest so Sarina decided to install some mandatory social activities in order to help her and her companions bond a little better. She decided to think of more ways to include the entire group next time, but this night had worked out brilliantly in her opinion. She glanced round at the different men dotted around the tavern. Some were trying much harder than others to pretend they weren’t listening to the drunken conversations from the table.

Neeshka was taking her turn telling an embarrassing story.  Her chin balanced on one hand as she waved her wine goblet in the other, punctuating each sentence with a slop of wine onto the table.

“…and then as Leldon jumped down onto the safe, he miscalculated his landing and cracked his head on the stone wall. He obviously had some kind of concussion. I laughed so hard, and then he puked EVERYWHERE. I mean; he coated him, me, the safe, the floor, he even managed to get some on the ceiling! I actually felt kinda sorry for the mark, coming home to that. I then had to carry Leldon out the front door over my shoulder, empty pockets and covered in puke. Some guards spotted us and asked us where we had been, so I just said we’d been at a crazy party in a noble’s house. And they believed us! That was the end of our first burglary together!”

 “Ha! Oh gods.”

“Ew Neeshka! I’m trying not to be sick here…”

“Are you kidding me Shandra?! Mine wasn’t half as bad as yours!”

This was exactly what Sarina needed at that moment. It was nice, just to relax and get very drunk with her companions. No mythical bad guys, no Githyanki, just some wine and silly jokes with friends. It was the kind of celebration that followers of Sharess lived for, just as Sune’s followers lived for… well everyone knew what Sunites got up to, there were many tavern songs written about exactly that.  Each sip of wine was like another small weight sliding right off her shoulders. Her travelling party looked just as relaxed as she felt, including Shandra who had seemed a little subdued after her kidnap. The farm girl was currently slumped over the table, resting happily in Neeshka’s puddle of wine and giggling happily to herself. Things were looking up for once.

Neeshka was pointedly grinning straight at her, “Come on Reens, we’ve all told our embarrassing tales, it’s your turn.”

“Hey, Qara hasn’t told hers yet!”

Neeshka poked sleeping Qara a few times in the ribs, the red –haired sorceress didn’t even pause her snoring as she was viciously prodded. Shandra drummed her fingers on the table impatiently.

“Ok Ok, I kinda have the perfect embarrassing story. A few years back, I was dating a guy from West Harbour, and things were going pretty serious you know? So I brought him home one night for a meal with Daeghun.  Anyway, we were about halfway through, and things are going pretty well. Daeghun even seems to like him a little, which is really unusual for him. The Steak for the main course seemed a little dry though, so I ask ‘Daddy, please can you pass me the sauce?’, and they _both_ reach for it….  Oh Gods, the look in Daeghun’s eyes when he realises _why_ this guy is reaching for it! I still cringe now when I remember it. The poor guy moved out of West Harbour three days later, and I never saw him again after that!”

Shandra and Neeshka howled in laughter, while Elanee looked at her then back at them, a confused look on her face, “What? I don’t get it?”

Suddenly they stopped laughing, and peered still smirking at something over her left shoulder. What the hells were they looking…?

“My lady, there’s a man here to see you.”

Of course it would be Casavir. She felt her cheeks burn and prayed they’d just think it was the wine, though one look at Shandra and Nesshka’s gleeful faces disproved that instantly.  Then perhaps the gods felt merciful right then and Casavir hadn’t actually heard her little story? But one stolen look at his slight blush confirmed he had, and her face flushed even darker. Mortified, she prayed for the floor to swallow her up. What would he think of her now?

Still smirking, Shandra grabbed the wine bottle and begin to pour another round, though she missed most of the goblets soaking the table even further,“Oooh! Get in there Sarina, a man here to see you! Is he cute Casavir?” she slurred loudly.

“I uh... wouldn’t know my lady.” His stumble set Neeshka and Shandra howling again, and despite her embarrassment, Sarina couldn’t help but giggle at his red face.

_That question threw him._

 “Thanks Casavir, did he say anything else?”

He paused, the blush still gracing his pale face, shooting her a worried look, “The man is Sir Nevalle, of the Neverwinter Nine. He said there’s been an incident.”

 

 

 

As it happened, Sir Nevalle was rather cute. Or he would have been if it weren’t for the deadly serious frown and armed escort either side of him. Whatever Neverwinter wanted from her now, she knew it wouldn’t be good.

“There you are.”

He shifted his weight, standing taller to confront her.  All that wine in her stomach suddenly felt very heavy as she glanced at the eye of Neverwinter on his uniform. The cloth symbol seemed to glare at her accusingly from Nevalle’s proud chest. Only a member of the Nine got to wear the eye like that, it symbolised their supreme authority over the rest of the Neverwintans. And having one show up looking for you generally meant bad news.

“Good evening, er Sir Nevalle was it? What brings one of the Nine to come seek me out at this time of the night?”

“I’m here because Luskan has accused you of murder – an entire village, no less. Have you heard of Ember?”

So the little seer boy had been right. About everything. All those people, that had hidden terrified in their homes while the githyanki attacked them. So happy to have survived, rebuild. They were now all dead. Their cowering had enraged Bishop, but they were just simple folk who didn’t know how to defend themselves. They never had any reason to learn before then.

And now they were dead, simply because she had walked through the village on the way to get Shandra back. The guilt burned black in her belly, as her mind struggled to process the truth. She’d inadvertently caused even more death, just by being there.

She nodded, the lump in her throat burning thick; “My companions and I walked through it, once.”

The wine in her stomach suddenly boiled up to her mouth. Holding her index finger at Nevalle to wait one moment, she expertly kicked open the door to the tavern and hurried through into the cold night. Nevalle stepped outside to wait (or to keep an eye on her so she didn’t run) as she vomited sour wine by the side of the Flagon. After her stomach was empty, she wiped her mouth, and straightened to speak to Nevalle. Thankfully he didn’t seem too bothered by her disgusting display.

 “I had nothing to do with it, I swear.” She whispered hoarsely, pleading him with her eyes to believe her. She felt for the people of Ember, even felt the horrible guilt for dooming them without realising, but right at that moment she was scared for herself too. She didn’t want to die for something she hadn’t done.

“I've scraped things from my boot that I respect more than Luskan. But unless we find some means of clearing you of these charges, we will have to surrender you to them...W-”

 The door to the Flagon flew open, smacking the wall with a resounding bang as her companions filed out to find her. Nevalle didn’t appear overly-impressed with the intrusion, but he chose not to comment on their new audience. She grimaced slightly in apology. Grobnar stepped in front of Nevalle, still carrying his lute which he waved dangerously close to the Knight’s face,

“She didn’t do it! We didn’t do it. You have to believe me!”

Nevalle sighed deeply as he very gently pushed the Gnome from in front of him by the shoulder; “We've signed a treaty with Luskan - they have the right to dispense low justice for any crime committed on their soil. But I am _not_ about to turn a loyal member of the Watch over to Luskan, this day or any other.”

“Thank you. How do I prove I didn’t do it?”

“Your guilt is preordained in a Luskan court. If you were a lord, knight or even a squire however, matters would be different. You would be subject to high justice, and your trial would have to take place in Lord Nasher’s court.”

“Tell me what you want me to do, Nevalle.”

“I need you to go see Sir Grayson, one of Lord Nasher’s most trusted knights, and become his squire. I may also send um… a friend of mine… to assist you. He has proven invaluable in such cases in the past.”

Neeshka folded her arms as she regarded Nevalle suspiciously, “This ‘friend’, how exactly will he help us in this mess?”

“He’s defended cases like this one in court before, though perhaps none of this magnitude. It pains me to say it, but when it comes to this type of situation, he’s good. Very good.”

Khelgar thumped her on the back, almost bowling her over her shaking legs; “There you go then lass, this lawyer friend of Nevalle’s will prove you’re innocent and we’ll stick two fingers up at those lying Luskan bastards! Everything will work out just fine, you’ll see.”

“The matter must still go to court, and if you cannot prove your innocence then you will face execution. See Sir Grayson at once, pledging yourself to Neverwinter’s service will give us some time to counter these lies. I must return to Lord Nasher at once, good luck Sarina.” He spun round on his heel, and marched briskly toward the Docks exit with his guard.

She barely registered Duncan grab her around the waist and lead her gingerly back inside, depositing her on the nearest chair. “No way in the Hells will I let those Luskans get their hands on you.”

Shandra sat down heavily on the one next to her; “But there’s still something we can do, right? Nevalle even said as much, all you have to is pledge yourself to one of Nasher’s Knights, and Luskan can’t touch you.”

Neeshka chirped up from the other side; “And we’re innocent, besides, the slaughter of an entire village? That’s going too far, even for Luskan standards.”

_I’m sure the dead of Ember would also agree it’s a bit far, Neesh._

“Is it? If you have something Luskan wants, they’d kill an entire city for it. They don’t care. If the people of Ember had put up even a token resistance, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. Thanks to their cowardice, our fair leader here has to choose between swinging from the gallows in Neverwinter, or swinging in pieces in Luskan.” Bishop bit out.

She didn’t agree with his words about Ember, but he had voiced her predicament beautifully. She was going to hang for a crime she didn’t commit. Fate really was a cold-hearted bitch. It came as quite the surprise to be killed by humans though, she would have put her money on Gith or the King of Shadows.

Duncan straightened sharply from her left; “Oh, as if the day couldn’t get any worse. What do you want Sand?”

It was the sardonic Moon elf who had sent them all flying after he tried to scry her silver Shards, those months ago. He’d probably come for his weekly verbal spar with Duncan. Sand was quite the attractive elf, in an older, learned cynic kind of way. Not that this was the time for such thoughts of course, being accused of mass murder would put a dampener of anyone’s libido. As could the thrilling prospect of being hung, drawn and quartered in front of a cheering Luskan crowd. Now _that_ really was a big turn-off.

The ludicrous racing thoughts must have appeared on her face as a worried Elanee stepped toward her to rub her shoulders in a motherly fashion.

_I’m going mad…_

Sand shifted uncertainly, “I am here to help you – and your kin actually. I- seem to have been given an ultimatum. I have heard of your troubles with Luskan, know that if you are sent to Luskan, you will be killed.”

“Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”

He rolled his eyes and raised a pointed eyebrow, “I realise you may find my sincerity difficult to believe, but allow me to act on your behalf. There are laws, and I know you uphold the law. I do not believe you guilty of this crime. If they get a hold of you, you will be killed without trial. I believe people should answer for their crimes, but it must be just.”

She keeled forward in her chair, feeling both intoxicated and quite numb, “So you want to help me, Sand?”

He crossed his arms as he regarded her quizzically, “I have to it seems.”

She twisted in her chair and met the eyes of her companions, lips pursed.

Casavir answered first; “I think we should give him the chance. This is not a battle that can be won by swords, and I for one, am ill-equipped for such a fight.”

None of them were equipped, she didn’t even rightly know how the Neverwinter legal system worked.

Qara snorted indignantly; “Sure, sign him up. After all a hedge mage can’t make things any worse. Maybe all that digging through books might prove useful.”

Sand smiled cruelly; “Ah Qara, if we need to burn down Luskan then we shall consult you. Your ignorance will cause more damage here than you know. Whatever spark of magic you think you have, they will bleed out of you by demon, spell and curse. There will be no clean chop of the headman’s axe for you. Any of you.”

Sarina’s stomach rebelled again at the thought. _Thanks for that Sand._

“And I suspect that what Luskan seeks may have consequence beyond you, beyond me - for much of the Realms. Let me join with you. I have considerable experience in these matters and foiling Luskan plots is something I relish.”

Despite the shock, the way he voiced ‘relish’ sent not unpleasant shivers down her spine. He was no Casavir, far from it in fact, but he was _unusually_ attractive. Intelligence and confidence bordering on arrogance made an intriguing man. Clever men intimidated her, so much so she’d never approach one romantically, but that just made them all the more appealing.

_Daydreaming about your lawyer for your upcoming murder trial, that’s a new low even for you. Sober up._

“Welcome to our group Sand.”

 


	15. Wyrmsage

“Ah, and here we are in the illustrious Port Llast. Watch where you step – you might get some of the local culture on your boots.”

_Why you stuck up elven fu-_

 “Gods, Sand, you hold your nose so high it’s a wonder you don’t wear your hat on it.”

Apparently, Shandra also had little tolerance when it came to country bumpkin jokes. But even she didn’t get her humble origins smell-checked every 5 minutes. ‘The smell of a Harbourman’ indeed. She swore she’d actually toast the next person to tell her that, keen elven senses or no.

“I don't even know what that means, my dear, but I'm sure as far as your local expressions go, it's quite quaint - and charmingly ignorant.”

Sarina quickly cut off Shandra’s reply, “As amusing as it is listening to you two bicker about Neverwinter’s great social divide, we need to hurry. The longer we dally here the more chance I end up getting my neck lengthened by several inches. So let’s focus on the task at hand, shall we?”

 “Yes indeed, we should find Haeromos quickly, he may be our best source of information here.” Sand said neutrally.

Shandra flicked her eyes back up from the ground looking quite abashed, and Sarina instantly felt a small pang of guilt at her little outburst, “Asking some of the locals couldn't hurt either, Reens. After we speak to Haeromos, of course.”

Sand nodded, “Agreed. They may well have seen something. I'll try to sort through what we find as we discover it, but check with me if you're ever curious about all we've gathered... I'll have a good sense for when we have enough to bring to trial.”

It would probably be too much to hope one of the locals had witnessed the entire slaughter of Ember in person. A credible witness could testify it wasn’t them in a heartbeat, and they wouldn’t even need evidence to prove their innocence then. But like everything else in life, the chances of them finding such a god-send was nigh impossible. The Luskans wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave a living witness to their set-up, nor any obvious clues at the scene of the crime. Sand had promised her there would be at least _some_ traces of their involvement left behind, but she wasn’t so sure.

 “All right. Look, I’m not sure how all of this is going to pan out, but I'm glad to have you along Sand.”

“Hmm… the pleasure is all mine. And as exceptional as my skills are, it is good to see them being put to good use at long last.”

_Maybe I won’t hang after all…_

 

She was definitely going to hang. Sand even said so himself after she told him not to exploit Alaine’s traumatic experience in court. As it turned out, there was a credible witness… one who swore blind it was Sarina and her companions whom she had observed murdering Ember in its entirety.

Sand had wanted to interrogate Alaine, and pick apart at her allegation (and probably her character and actual sanity, knowing Sand’s penchant for verbal destruction).

But the poor girl had already lost everything, and at the time, making her re-live it through Sand’s questioning just seemed needlessly cruel. Now though, they didn’t have much evidence at all in her favour. Perhaps she did need to be a less of a ‘bleeding heart’ if she wanted to survive this trial.

 

It only took all of that day and most of the next, for Sand to stop throwing her disapproving looks. Everyone was quiet as they set about to comb through the wreckage of Ember for clues. Every house had been burnt down, leaving only blackened shells that held nothing but ash and debris. The villagers lay spread throughout the village, arms and legs outstretched as they’d tried to flee until the moment they fell. They’d carefully search each corpse they found for evidence, before sprinkling Nya’s Wyrmsage to properly dispose of it. Sarina also used some of the Wyrmsage of the villager’s pets, feeling both foolish and incredibly sad as she watched the powder worked its magic on their tiny bodies. She tried to hide wiping the tears from her eyes as we watched the last deceased cat disappear into the earth.  

“Feeling sentimental are we Harbourman?”

_Bishop._

“ _Fuck off_ Bishop. I swear to the gods I’ll…”

“You’ll what Princess? Show us another outpouring of grief before we’re all executed for this?”

“What in the hells is wrong with you?!”

Sand froze, hand raised to silence them as he hissed, “Shush! Hold on a moment, I heard something moving in the well.”

They were all silent for a moment as they listened intently, argument quickly forgotten.  

Elanee stepped silently towards the well, “There, I heard it too.”

Sand nodded at her and turned back to Sarina, “It could be a survivor... or one of the murderers. I say we find out.”

Neeshka sighed loudly, striding over to the well before rooting through her pack for something. She pulled out a torch, quickly lit it and threw it down the well, leaning over as she watched it fall. After it splashed loudly, she stood upright and folded her arms.

“Well of _course_ it’s not an ordinary little well, there’s a bloody door down there! And we’re going through it aren’t we?”

Sarina grimaced joylessly, “Needs must, Neesh.”

“Uhh, I HATE the countryside.” She swung her legs over the side, grabbing the rope to climb down. “It’s so - _ew_ , weird.”

 

 

They found the little seer boy, Marcus at the bottom. He was alive and fully unharmed, just as he had predicted. Sand quickly convincing him to testify at the upcoming trial. She had offered to walk him back to Port Llast, but he refused vehemently. Before leaving, Marcus returned the borrowed knife to Sarina, who in turn thrust it toward Bishop. He wrenched it from her grasp before she’d even realised he’d moved, rolling his eyes irritably at her surprised gasp.

Their luck seemed to change as the day progressed. They cleared the well’s connecting caverns for the resident goblins, in exchange for a piece for a vital piece of evidence. Sarina lucked out whilst bluffing to a Dryad in exchange for the real attackers disguise, and had even gained a new friend in the form of a gargantuan spider christened ‘Kistrel’. After what Sand dubbed ‘an eventually productive day’, they began the dreaded journey back to Neverwinter for judgement.

 

 

As they set up camp just off the main road back to the city that evening, the realisation that she would stand trial for murder the very next day, hit Sarina. She sat back against the trunk of a withered old Oak, wrapped up in her cloak, and watched the others tend to the fire and pitch their tents. It was as if time moved slower for her; as though she were drowning inside her own invisible ocean. The day had been a long one, and disposing of Ember’s dead had made her supposed crime feel so much more _real_ than it had back in Neverwinter. The fear and anger she felt swell inside her chest was like nothing she’d ever experienced before, and she doubted her ability to even stand before the court tomorrow. How could one unimportant peasant woman and her friends end up being framed for murder of an entire village? And then be made to plead their case in front of the entire high court at Castle Never? It was unimaginable.

After what seemed like many hours, the rich blue robes of Sand swept before her, pulling her out of her morbid thinking. He sighed theatrically as he searched around her for a place to sit, before deciding on the cold ground next to her.

“Charming place you’ve picked to camp in this evening. Still, it is miles more hygienic than your Uncle’s squalid tavern, so I can understand your preference to rest out here instead.”

“Hmm...yeah. I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“It does not matter. Feeling nervous about commencing the trial tomorrow?”

“Terrified.” She whispered, praying her other companions could not hear. It was unlikely they hadn’t already picked up on the fact she was scared. They were probably just as petrified as she felt, even Khelgar wasn’t as loud and brash as he usually was in an evening time. Poor Grobnar hadn’t touched his Lute once today, a sure sign that something big was amiss.

“Well, that would make two of us.”

Her head whipped up in shock and Sarina stared at him horrified.

“You’re terrified? But you’re my lawyer, my defence!”

He snorted quietly, “I’m joking my dear, forgive me. Though it is true I am a little nervous about defending your good name in front of the Neverwinter elite. But be rest assured that is only the nerves of an actor before he graces the stage. We have sufficient evidence to prove Luskan treachery, and I can guarantee Torio will fluff her lines in face of our defence. So there, nothing to worry yourself over.”

He tapped her knee awkwardly, and she guessed Sand hadn’t comforted many people before. But the gesture was a well-meaning one, and his words did calm her a little.

“Do you mean that? You really think we can win this case?”

“I do.”

He looked sincere; determined in his own cool, collected way. He was either telling the truth and really thought they would win, or he was a very accomplished liar. Right at that moment, she’d take either of those as a positive thing.

“So do you have a strategy for me tomorrow?”

“It is somewhat... unorthodox, but playing upon the animosity between Luskan and Neverwinter may help you... but that will only go so far, and may even help Torio in convincing the court that your actions may have been an attempt to start another war, which no one in Neverwinter wants.”

“Um… OK?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t look quite as confident now, “Just do not threaten her or try to bluff her unless you are equally certain - if you fail, you are bound for the gallows for certain.”

“I’ll heed your advice.”

“Well, I'm glad someone does. I occasionally have a good idea, you know.”

She pursed her lips, unsure he’d take her next words, “Sand I… I’m not the most intelligent woman, that much is probably pretty clear you by now. There’s no way I’d ever be able to defend myself at the trial tomorrow, let alone find all of the evidence that we found today.  Thank you for representing me.”

Sand looked shocked, it wasn’t an emotion that suited him, really.

“Oh, well you’re welcome.”

He blinked, clearly flabbergasted, “But really, no thanks needed. I assure you, this is a labour of love, and I relish the thought of seeing Luskan lose face - and possibly Torio losing her head. Come now, get some rest. You’ll need a clear head for tomorrow’s proceedings.”

She did as she was told, feeling much more confident about her chances for the following day. Perhaps their luck was turning finally.

 


	16. Devotions & Love Potions

Nope, her luck was still the same old stubborn, son-of-a-bitch it had always been. But now instead of being hanged, she’d be split from navel to chin by Lorne Starling’s sword in front of a cheering crowd. One Habourman killed by another who had betrayed his home, and his country. The injustice of it was _sickening_ , especially after the trial had gone so well.

Torio had done well in her prosecution, but with Sarina’s knack for words and Sand’s keen intelligence, the trial had been one beautifully-crafted, single-fingered salute to the Luskans. Marcus the little seer boy had given his testimony beautifully, Nya from Port Llast had made an appearance to talk about their efforts to dispose of the bodies respectfully with Wyrmsage. By the end of the trial, Torio had resorted to questioning Shandra about the destruction of her farm, as well as any other information she could use in her prosecution. Shandra had defended her so gallantly throughout, cutting Torio with a parting shot so stunning, Sand was almost beside himself with glee.

By any rights, Torio should have been imprisoned under Neverwinter castle, awaiting a twitchy end on the Gallows in the morning.  But fate had never been on Sarina Farlong’s side, and Torio was even more dangerous when backed into a corner than Sand ever could have predicted. Losing completely in the high court, the Luskan ambassador had invoked Trial by combat as a final resort. At first, nobody had answered Torio’s pleas for a champion to fight on her behalf. Sarina had begun to quite fancy her chances at the tourney grounds with Torio. As clever as the ambassador was, she’d probably be quite end of practice when it came to combat, whereas she’d spent nearly every day of the past few months slinging spells. And then a man had stepped forward into the court, his tattooed face and broad accent all too familiar.

She’d be duelling against a fellow Harbourman with a close shared history. She had to concede, it wasn’t fair but gods be damned, it was a poetic end (to either herself or Lorne) in its own way. Grobnar Gnomehands would have some great new material for his ballads after this spectacular debacle.  

 

 

The church of Tyr was a cold and silent one at that late hour, and she was alone to reflect on what had transpired in the trial earlier. Sand had been in his element as her defender in court, and by all accounts, had enjoyed himself _thoroughly_ throughout the proceedings. His earlier stage analogy was perfect for how flawlessly he performed that day. He’d had the audience wrapped around his little finger until Torio had played her final and devastating card, her combat champion Lorne bloody Starling.

She sighed bitterly. Lorne’s mother, Retta had helped raise her whenever Daeghun was away hunting. She’d shared many meals with the Starling family, Lorne included back when he still visited West Harbour. Heck, he’d even stuck up for Bevil and her a few times against the Mossfield brothers, back when they were children. OK so they weren’t close by any stretch of the imagination, but Bevil was like her brother, and Lorne would always be her neighbour from West Harbour. It was probably why he now offered to fight as Torio’s champion; an extra stab in the back to punish her for meddling in Luskan business. It was ingenious really. Psychological warfare, Sand called it.

_Bastards. Bastards. BASTARDS!_

“My lady, are you alright?!”

She jumped at the sound of Casavir’s concerned voice, before groaning loudly as she struggled to stand after spending too long on her knees at the altar of Tyr.

“Casavir! I – I’m sorry, that was meant to be an internal thought. I didn’t know I was thinking out loud. Oh no, I hope Tyr isn’t angry at me for swearing in his church. It’s the last thing I need right now, Tyr’s wrath…”

He reached out to place his hand on her shoulder, hesitating as it was only a hair’s breadth away before placing it gently on her robe. She quietened instantly, as she felt the warmth of his hand spread through to her skin.

“Tyr will know your plight, and of your innocence. Don’t worry Sarina, it is not you who should be afraid of his wrath. Torio’s lackey will certainly discover that on the morrow.”

The butterflies in her stomach jolted at the gentle way he said her name, but she quickly mentally-chastised them. Right now, he was an ally and a friend, trying to bolster his leader before battle. Over thinking her muddled romantic feelings during the rites would be highly inappropriate by anyone’s standards. She needed to concentrate, ‘cleanse her troubled mind’ and what have you. It was then Sarina suddenly realised that he’d been talking while she was busy internalising her small fancy on him. And he was now patiently waiting for her to answer.

“Oh, um… I’m sorry I didn’t catch a word of that. I don’t think my mind is working properly at the minute.”

He smiled warmly, “I was just saying, you don’t have to kneel and pray for the entire night, stand and take break if you need it.  You must be exhausted from your efforts. As much as Tyr may like it, it’s not customary to spend the _entire_ night on your knees in front of him.”

Unable to resist the accidental innuendo, she raised a suggestive eyebrow. His ears went a touch red, and he gestured lamely to the altar of Tyr. She giggled quietly, which drew another small smile and made his ears burn an even more vivid red.

 “In front of Tyr I mean. He would like – um. Kneeling in… prayer. What I said was of little importance anyway.”

She giggled even harder at his flustering, “Thank you Casavir. You always seem to know how to calm me and make me smile whenever I most need it.”

Must have been something to do with his Paladin’s aura, she reckoned, a handy trick to have when comforting the doomed.  The smile dropped from his face as he grew serious again,

 “That is my sacred duty now, but we must talk of the duel tomorrow, my lady. Torio herself would never directly participate in a trial by combat. Let me be your champion, I know a little of knightly combat and I think I’d be best suited to fighting Lorne. You don’t have to put yourself in anymore danger.”

She could see the pleading in his blue eyes, for once barely concealed just beyond the clenched jaw and furrowed brow. He didn’t think she was likely to win against Lorne, and he was probably right. She was more suited to big, area attacks, hurting a group of enemies by chipping away at their health with elemental spells. When it came to close combat with a single, strong enemy, her quarter-staff could only help her so much. He’d also probably learned of their shared past, and how Torio was using Lorne as a psychological weapon as well as a deadly, physical one. Casavir would have no such personal compulsion keeping him from defeating Lorne, and he was correct that they were physically well-matched.  But she wasn’t completely defenceless, and the many months she’d spent travelling from West Harbour had improved her combat significantly. And if nothing else, she’d have everything to fight for tomorrow, whereas Lorne Starling would only have to put his life on the line. She’d be fighting to clear her name, for Neverwinter’s reputation, and for Ember. Surely that counted for something?

“Thank you Casavir, but this is something I must do for myself. I could never live with myself if I let somebody else fight this duel for me.”

His reaction was immediate. He straightened impassively,

 “Of course, I understand my lady. Then there is nothing more I can do for you. I bid you the best of luck on the field tomorrow.”

_Oh…_

The flash of disappointment stung as she observed his return to the usual, formal paladin demeanour. It felt like he was shutting himself off from their companionship, before she fell to Lorne tomorrow. That hurt more than it probably should have. But of course, he would be ever the consummate professional, even when saying goodbye to a friend. That’s what paladins were known for.

Sarina rubbed the back of her neck, “I… better get back to the rites I guess.”

He bowed his head in respect, before striding rigidly towards the door. It felt like a very underwhelming goodbye after their time together. She turned back toward the statue of Tyr, hands wrapping themselves around her thin arms as she bade her lip not to tremble.

“My lady! Wait, I have something for you…”

He whipped around suddenly, fumbling frantically into the small bag secured at his hip as he practically sprinted back to her. After a few moments searching, he produced a small, silver flask. Reaching for her hand, he placed it into her palm and wrapped her fingers around it. He enfolded both of his hands around hers as they held the flask between them. She tried not to show surprise at the sudden contact.

“This was given to me a long time ago, though you now have need of it much more than I. Please, use it tomorrow and its purpose will have been fulfilled.”

She swallowed thickly, sadness abating at his sudden show of warmth and overly aware of his much larger hands around hers. Her chest lurched as he held her hands almost reverently in his, and she reddened, hoping he couldn’t feel her pulse racing underneath her skin. The moment was almost too tender for her, too intimate for the night before she could lose her life. She looked up at him, his face only inches away from hers, and winked conspiratorially.

“It’s not a love potion is it Casavir? Cos you know it wouldn’t be very chivalrous to use this on Lorne, then stab him while he’s busy fawning over me. Great idea though, much better than Neeshka’s health potions. Thanks!”

He stared blankly. She grew nervous as the seconds seem to crawl by and he still hadn’t reacted.

“Oh shi - I’m sorry, that was meant...”

He took one hand from hers and pressed the back of it to his mouth as he sniggered. His uncharacteristic, deep laugh filled her with giddy delight, despite the copious amounts of doom pending tomorrow. It took him almost a full minute to compose himself.

“Ahem, no. It is a healing potion and a blessing. Not as potent as a love potion, but it will help keep you and that silly sense of humour safe.”

His eyes crinkled, and she kissed his remaining hand lightly.

“Then I’ll use it gladly, thank you.”

 


	17. The Duel

 

Sarina cautiously stepped out of her tent and into the blinding, late-morning sunlight. She’d tried to catch up on some sleep, after she’d been brought here at day break by Lord Nasher’s own personal guard, but the nerves had gotten to her and sleep had been out of the question.  A low cheer and raucous applause rose from the gathering crowds at the spectator stands. The tourney ground was usually used for sporting events, jousting and the like. Trials by combat were quite rare in Neverwinter, therefore they always drew sizeable crowds. She’d always quite fancied going to one previously; a bit of free entertainment, a sporting event AND a public execution all in one. Maybe as a spectator though, with some ale and salted meat for snacks. The sound of the crowd made her stomach roil dangerously again, whilst an ever-observant Shandra fussed around her.

“Oh Reenie, do you need the bucket again? It’s a good job I plaited your hair back first thing this morning…”

Sarina waved at her dismissively, before changing colour and deftly running back into the tent to heave the last of her stomach’s contents. Grobnar, who’d taken it upon himself to ‘chart every detail of the momentous day for future generations of Neverwinter’, began scribbling furiously in his tiny note book,

 “Great stories never mention the doomed hero projectile vomiting before the final battle, my ballad is certainly going to be strange one!”

Shandra shushed him as Sarina re-appeared from the tent with a slight sheen of sweat on her brow.

“Well, on the bright side I’m feeling much lighter for this fight now.” Whilst patting her mouth with the back of her sleeve.

Shandra grabbed a handkerchief, and wiped her friend’s brow gently, “Hmm always the optimist. You know, at times like this, I feel like your squire.”

 “I feel rather like a Gnome, which is good because I am one. My, look at all those people. What I wouldn’t give for an audience such as that… well, on a less bloody occasion, perhaps.” Grobnar helpfully supplied.

Sarina paled again. Shandra offered Sarina her quarterstaff, handling it gingerly as though it were a red-hot poker. She grabbed it roughly, and rolled up the sleeves of her robe so they wouldn’t get in the way of the casting or staff manoeuvres.

“You sure about this? It's not too late to choose someone else to fight for you. Not like I don't have faith in you, or anything.”

“Shandra, you changed your mind? I'm glad! After all that terrible crying last night and that phrase you kept saying, what was it... "I don't see how she can possibly..."

Shandra kicked him non-to-gently, “Grobnar!”

“Oops sorry, tactless again.”

Sarina giggled weakly, poor Grobnar couldn’t catch a break with that trap of his.

Shandra flipped her hair and turned back to face her, “Anyway- I want Lorne to answer for what he did. I really do. But that man is built like a mountain, and if he wins... well, he's out of our reach.”

“If he wins, I think I’ll be too ‘brown – bread’ to give a shit Shandra.” Her voice took on a gentle mocking tone as she smirked at Shandra.“And were you seriously worried about me? You big cry-baby!”

Shandra blanched.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t _crying_. I haven’t cried since I was a little girl, and even then, only when peeling Onions.”

“Uh-huh.”

Shandra reddened and folded her arms defensively, “Yeah well… at least I don’t puke like a colicky baby every time I get a little nervous! I’m surprised the Githyanki don’t call you ‘Kalach-Chuck up’!”

It took a good few minutes for both of them to compose themselves. Some of guards nearby were eyeing them suspiciously, combatants in the arena didn’t usually double over howling with laughter just before they went in. One of the Neverwinter soldiers who’d escorted her from the Church to the tourney cleared his throat pointedly, it was nearing midday. The guards would march her at knife point into the arena in a few minutes, she guessed she had just enough time to say goodbye.

Wiping the last of the tears from her eyes, Sarina clapped her hand lightly on Shandra’s shoulder, “Shandra, before I go in… I wanted to thank you, for tagging along with me on this mad quest these past few weeks. And I’m sorry, again, for your farm. I really am.”

_A real poet today_

“Bad luck just follows you around, doesn’t it Reens?” Shandra grinned. “There’s nothing to forgive. And about what you asked of me? If the fight today doesn’t go your way, which it totally will do, you silly mare. Of course, I’ll help you finish this, whatever happens.”

She’d asked Shandra and Casavir to spearhead the investigation into the shards and Ember, if she were to fall to Lorne. Their mission was too important to end with her, and Shandra would make a brilliant leader of their ragtag group, she’d realised proudly. Some of the other companions would see the business with silver shards to the end, Khelgar, Neeshka and Elanee would continue aid the quest for sure.  But it was Shandra and Casavir she knew would ‘do the right thing’ when it came to stopping the King of Shadows. They would have the willpower and resources to really finish what the Githyanki had started. 

 That said, instructing them on where exactly to extract the silver shard embedded next to her heart had been an awkward conversation. Giving explicit instructions on how to cut the shard from her own corpse had nearly resulted in more vomiting.  But in doing so, she had felt more at peace for the fight ahead, safe in the knowledge that if she were to fall, her friends would continue the quest.

 Sarina swallowed thickly, “Thank you Shandra, you’re… a better friend than I could ever wish for.”

“Yeah I know, now go and kick some Luskan ass, babe.”

 

 

Lorne was already in the arena as she marched to her place in front of Lord Nasher’s litter. He said nothing to her, as she approached, just giving her one brief, once-over and turned back to face Nasher, with a confident sneer.

 Lord Nasher Alagondar looked resplendent in his gleaming silver, armour. He had recently cut his infamous long hair and extravagant facial hair into a no-nonsense goatee and shaved head. In many of the common people’s eyes, he’d finally finished his transformation from veteran adventurer turned leader, into stern, warrior-king. She thought the new look suited him much better though, long hair was nothing but a hindrance for a fighter in the field. Not that she’d ever take interest in a noble such as him, but it was easy to see why Nevalle revered him (in more ways than one if the rumours were to be believed, Nasher Alagondar was one lucky sod if they were true).

“Is the accuser or her champion here?”

Lorne turned to face her, “We are here.”

She met his gaze squarely, she would show no fear in the face of death, or Lorne, y’know… which were basically the same thing right at that moment. Well, she wouldn’t show fear right at the end anyway, hopefully Grobnar would leave out the nervous vomiting when he wrote the inevitable ‘songs’ that would follow the duel.

“Is the accused or her champion here?”

“The accused is here and ready.”

_That’s right bitches._

It was plain bad luck that she finally happened to look down right then and notice Lorne’s strange weapon for the first time. His sword was long and unusually jagged for maximum damage, the type that was made for hacking and slashing rather than clean, merciful cuts. Swords, daggers and even halberd’s, were weapons she’d practiced against, but seeing that monstrosity threw her completely. Her vision darkened, as true panic set in.  She scanned the crowd frantically, whilst the good Prior Hlam was droning on about ‘justice being delivered that day’ or some such nonsense. Luckily for her, her target wasn’t listening as intently as some of the others. Sand raised a curious eyebrow when she caught his attention. She motioned as inconspicuously as she could to Lorne’s fearsome weapon and shrugged her shoulders. Any tactics she’d originally come up with had been forgotten completely in the face of such a fearsome looking weapon. Keeping one wary eye on the rambling prior, Sand made a casting motion and ran two fingers through the air.

She shrugged again and he slapped his hand to his face in disbelief.

_Thanks Sand, great time to rub it in that I’m thick!_

Sand took the hand from his face and motioned again, casting and two fingers running quickly.

_Haste! He means cast Haste!_

She nodded and motioned for more. Sand then gestured drinking then waving both hands dramatically in front of his face.

_Drink some… the potion of Invisibility!_

A dour looking, noble spectator was staring at Sand’s show incredulously, to which Sand grimaced back horribly. The Moon elf could even make a sarcastic smile look scathingly insulting. Damn he was good. Finally, he conjured a small icicle in one hand, motioning a finger stuck and viciously mimed clubbing it over the head with the other. That motion was easy enough; trap Lorne in ice and club him repeatedly on his thick, shiny head. He dropped his hands quickly, and Sand stood innocently staring around the arena, waiting for the show to begin like the rest of the audience.

Prior Hlam it seemed had just finished his spiel, and was expecting the two contestants to shake hands like at some friendly wrestling match, bless him. Holy men and fights to the death never went well together. She winked at Sand in thanks, and ever the show-off, grabbed her Quarter-staff to twirl it artfully through the air.  Feeling emboldened by Sand’s last minute tactics talk, she turned to taunt Lorne. Enraging him was the key to winning this duel, she knew it.

“Oh Lorne. Your mother would be so disappointed in you if she could see you now.”

The effect was instantaneous as Lorne turned beet red and spat fully in her face. He advanced forward menacingly, “What would do _you_ know of my mother?”

She calmly wiped the spit from her face with the sleeve of her robe, hoping her next words would never reach the lovely Retta Starling herself.

“I know that you don’t keep your beard half as well as she keeps hers. Seriously, is that a beard, or did all the hair on your head just slide down your face?”

Lorna roared, heaving the wicked sword over his head and brought it down over her delicate, plaited head. Or so he thought. Unfortunately for him, she’d already started running for her life.

 


	18. Healing Herbs

The raw, burning pain shooting across her thighs woke her from deep sleep. She glanced around her cluttered room at the Sunken Flagon, looking for something cool she could use as a compress on the raw parts of skin. Throwing off the covers that had been carefully wrapped around her, Sarina sat up slowly, groaning as her bruised ribs cracked and complained. She had come out of the duel with more than a few scrapes, but with her life surprisingly intact, thanks to Sand’s ‘cut and run’ tactic.  She made a mental note to buy him a new, shockingly expensive set of robes once she was back on her feet. She’d also have to treat Casavir to a new blessing flask, she’d gratefully downed his gift after Lorne cut her legs whilst she tried to run from him. His flask probably saved her from bleeding out and falling unconscious mid-duel.

A swift knock at her bedroom door preceded a determined-looking Elanee, who marched in armed with a tray of soup and fresh bandages. Whilst Elanee had always been the sensible and slightly nagging type, she’d taken her role as ‘group mother’ to a whole new level whilst Sarina was indisposed. It was a little over-bearing and more than a bit awkward, but overall it was nice to be looked after, Sarina had quickly decided. It reminded her of sleepovers at Retta’s house, and of Daeghun’s awkward attempts of treating her small, skinned knees when she was a child. Elanee had been looking out for her long before she’d ever even known the druidess, and that role had only expanded now that they were travelling companions and allies. She owed Elanee quite a great deal too, she realised. Though she doubted her new carer would appreciate a fancy new set of robes in the same way Sand would.

“Ah you’re awake, wonderful! How are you feeling today Sarina?”

“Like I’ve just been in a fight to the death with a trained Luskan assassin.”

Elanee smiled gently, as though she were an overworked mother dealing with an unruly tot,

“Hmm... anyway, I’m here to get you fed and cleaned up before the healer is due to return. He seemed to be pretty confident that you’d be pretty much back to normal, after this next healing session. And do NOT try to argue that you can heal yourself now you’re fully awake, you need all your strength to get better.”

Sarina pouted as the words dried up in her throat. She was no professional healer, but even she could finish the few injuries left. Probably. Convinced she wasn’t going to get any argument that day, Elanee continued her bustling.

“Here.” she fussed Sarina back to sit resting at the head of the bed and placed the tray with the soup carefully onto her lap. “You must be starving after sleeping all through yesterday?”

“Yeah I was pretty out of it. Thank you Elanee, for all of this. I don’t know what I’d do without your wonderful doting.” She smiled softly to show she wasn’t being sarcastic.

“Oh well… it’s not a problem. Anyway it’s not just me who’s been concerned for your recovery. I think everyone has been to visit you at least once over the past couple of days. Even Bishop and that foul wolf of his stuck his head in briefly.”

Sarina lowered her spoon, “What? Bishop actually visited? And while I was sleeping?”

 “I don’t think your Uncle would allow that man in unaccompanied, not while you were fast asleep anyway.”

She made a show of sitting on the bed directly in front of Sarina, clucking her tongue at the barely touched soup bowl, “Come on now, and eat your soup! I used the last of my healing herbs to make that. Gods only know the next time I’ll be able to pick some more White Willow bark. It’s just impossible to find any fresh herbs in this city.”

“Yes mother.”

“Hmm. No real mother would stand for your cheek, nor your friend’s for that matter!” she hissed in a very un-Elanee like fashion. Sarina lowered her spoon gently once again, fighting the urge to sigh out loud.

 “Why, who’s done something silly now?”

Elanee wrinkled her nose in distaste, “Last night, there was quite the party to celebrate your victory in the duel. Your friend Neeshka wanted to wake you and have you join in the festivities. She was most rude when I told her she’d do no such thing.”

“They had a party without me?”

Elanee’s gaze narrowed dangerously, while her nose crinkled up even higher.

“Oh! Er… no you were quite right, I was in no state to be celebrating. I’ll have a word with Neeshka about her attitude once I’m up, I promise.”

Elanee and Neeshka both harboured a small mutual dislike of one another, though not as much as Qara and Sand, and it was not nearly as bitter as Bishop and Casavir. It was probably because they were so different, in both temperament and moral conscience. Neeshka had the uncanny ability to rub most people up the wrong way, mostly on purpose if she was entirely honest. Plus, not everyone found her rampant Kleptomania was half as amusing as she did. Whatever their reasons for their various disagreements, Sarina decided to stay out of the fray as much as possible. They were all adults, and therefore could handle their own personal politics without involving her.

As she was considering the diverse set of traits of her companions, it was then she remembered Grobnar chatting to Shandra on the morning of the duel. She’d inadvertently overheard their conversation in between the bouts of terrified vomiting.  She could have sworn she heard him mention that he was writing a new song to mark the occasion.

“Elanee? Bit of a strange question but Grobnar didn’t sing anything about the duel last night, did he?”

The wood elf pursed her lips as though holding back a smirk, “He did as a matter of fact, it was quite impressive. He certainly managed to capture all the gritty details of the fight, especially the ones that most Bards would gloss over for their ballads.”

_Oh Gods no._

“Such as?”

“Well… you know Grobnar, he…”

A knock at the door saved Elanee from answering. She sprang to her feet and practically wrenched the open door open to reveal a very surprised elderly man.

“Ah! The healer’s here. Come on in sir, she’s all ready to be fixed up!” she called, far too cheerily.

 

 

 

The healer had just finished casting the last of his healing magics when a loud rap at the bedroom door startled them both.

“Hey Reenie, you in there? I’ve got an important message for you!” Neeshka called through the door.

Sarina thanked the healer profusely and called in the excitable Tiefling, who nearly bowled the poor man over as he was leaving.

“Wow, you’re looking much better! Like Ol’ Lorne didn’t put a scratch on you! Except y’know he did because everyone saw you nearly bleed to death on the tourney ground floor. Anyway, one of the city guards just came by for you, Lord bloody Nasher himself would like to speak with you urgently. Requests you come up to Castle Never for an audience at once.”

Sarina’s shoulder’s sagged before she’d even realised, “They do know I was almost hacked to death a few days ago don’t they? I’m exhausted, I’ve literally only just finished being healed.”

Neeshka shrugged, “Yeah Khelgar did tell the guard that, well he yelled it at the guy more than told him. But the guard was adamant, said Lord Nasher had summoned you to speak with him right away. A ‘matter of the nation’s security’ apparently.”

“Oh Gods, what does that mean?”

“Ah, probably nothing! You know nobles, they snap their fingers and expect you to come running. You say ‘yay’, they say ‘Nay’. They say ‘jump’, you have to say ‘off what my lord?’. Personally I wouldn’t go, stuff them they can’t tell me what to do. Apart from Nasher of course, he can tell anyone what to do, as he’s like the king of Neverwinter or some bollocks. So - are we all going up to the Castle? Or just you and a couple of the others?”

Though Neeshka’s tone was trying to be carefully nonchalant throughout the rambling, her tail whipped round excitedly. Probably at the thought of being allowed into Castle Never as a guest, it was unlikely that many Tieflings got to go inside the Castle. Though those with demon blood were very rare, they were without fail, always on the less desirable side of Neverwinter’s social divide. The only exception she knew to that rule, was the Hero of Neverwinter’s lover, Valen Shadowbreath. But both he and the Hero had disappeared from Neverwinter years ago, and the citizens of Blacklake had very short memories indeed when it came to heroes from the more ‘exotic’ races.

Sarina couldn’t blame Neeshka for jumping at the chance to visit Blacklake’s crowning glory. The castle itself was a very beautiful example of early Faerun architecture, known for wowing visitors with its spiralling towers and impressive stone work.  Not to mention all the rich pickings that Castle Never and its court would have, just ripe for the taking by those so inclined.

 She grumbled as she glumly peeled herself from the bed covers. Sarina _really_ did not want to get involved with anymore plans of Neverwinter’s adventurer- king. But she couldn’t deny her interest was piqued, Lord Nasher wouldn’t summon her so soon after the duel unless it was extremely important.

“Round the rest Neesh, we’ll go and see what’s happening up at Blacklake.”

“Yes ma’am!”


	19. The Fear Itself

Khelgar gracelessly plonked himself down on the stony ground of the crossroads, after a mere half day’s journey south of the city of Neverwinter. It was clear from his demeanour that he was thoroughly irritated and tired from the travel. Feeling equally unsociable, giving nothing more than a nod in greeting, Sarina sat next to him. He waved his flask wordlessly, which she accepted. She took several long gulps, hoping getting slightly drunk would make the day somewhat easier. Her freshly-healed legs were aching unpleasantly from their mad dash to the proposed meeting site. Healing magic could only go so far in repairing damaged flesh, and it certainly did not rejuvenate exhaustion from near-death in trial by combat. To add insult to injury, Grobnar was intent on ‘treating’ them all to energetic renditions of his new ballad from the Trial, ‘The Hero of the Docks and How She Bravely Ran Away’. Luckily, Sand had soon threatened to shut the Gnome up with violent magic after the first three recitals, so they were left to journey to the crossroads in peace after that.

 The crossroads themselves sat midway along the high road, right in the heartlands of Neverwinter.  Once a formidable fortress, the keep overlooking them had been abandoned for many years, until a Luskan informant had told Nasher that Crossroad Keep was now home to a much more sinister inhabitant. The informant had spoken of how the Arcane Brotherhood of Luskan had seized the castle, and were now preparing to perform an extremely worrying ritual to empower their leader, ‘Black Garius’, with powerful magic taken from the King of Shadows himself.  There was no telling of what could happen if Garius and the Brotherhood were to succeed in their ritual.  But it was clear was that Neverwinter was in extreme peril, and if they were to fail that day, the consequences would be disastrous. 

Even worse, the near-senile, old sage Aldanon, had been kidnapped by the Arcane Brotherhood to be used somehow in the ritual, though it wasn’t clear why, or even how he would be used. Sarina felt she owed a substantial debt to Aldanon, after he had solved the mystery of what the silver shards were, and had given her his own. Though his rescue was secondary to the disruption of the ritual, she personally vowed to try to recover the old sage alive from the brotherhood.

 Lord Nasher had commanded Sarina and her companions to meet up with the ‘Many-Starred Cloaks’; a highly decorated guild of sorcerers and wizards, dedicated to protecting Neverwinter from major threats. Despite the severity of the threat, she’d just about squealed with glee when Nasher had commanded their partnership for the mission. The Many-Starred Cloaks were what every young mage aspired to work as when they grew up. They were the best of the best of Neverwinter’s forces; a kind of elite team known to be made up of only the finest and the bravest magic wielders. Qara tried to claim that they had already tried to recruit her when she was at the academy, a claim which approximately no one believed, much to her dismay.

 

 

Sarina sat staring sullenly at the path to the long abandoned Crossroad Keep. Though the years of decay had not been kind to the sprawling castle, its brilliant strategic position meant entry to the Keep would be impossible with its gates shut. She desperately hoped the Many –Starred Cloaks had another plan of entry, otherwise Black Garius would complete his ritual unaffected by them completely.

As they briskly marched toward the keep, Shandra stopped suddenly, pointing at something on the path in front of them. Closer inspection revealed a partially burned corpse, wearing peasant’s clothing. The poor sod still held on to his Scythe valiantly.

“The farmer… they didn’t even bury him, just left him for the vultures. Why would they do that? It’s monstrous.” Shandra said quietly.

Bishop nudged the corpse with his boot, “If so, the vultures wouldn’t get much meat off him. He’s been charred pretty badly.”

Shandra blanched. “Don’t do that. Show some respect for the dead, Bishop.”

“Little girl, farmers living too far from a well-travelled road or town die all the time - something you've barely avoided up to now. This one, at least he died quick, looks like a fireball burned his worthless body to ash.”

Sarina stepped in between the two of them before the argument escalated, “Stop it Bishop, and for God’s sake just leave the poor man alone. We’ll bury him once we’re finished up at the Keep, he deserves better than just to be left here.”

He shook his head incredulously, “You waste tears for the dead when the King of Shadows is about to return to destroy us all? We’ll all be joining that farmer if you don’t get your priorities straight, harbour-man. You think he cares now whether he’s buried or left to rot?”

“That man gave his life fighting our enemy, the least you can do is show him a modicum of respect…”

The ‘Cloaks’ contact hurried over before she could continue with something she’d later regret. She had a feeling she’d managed to lose even more respect in Bishop’s eyes by promising to bury the unknown farmer, but she couldn’t find the effort required to care. He may have been right, but Bishop was a soulless bastard through and through.

 

 

After trying and failing to breach the main doors to the keep, Vale, the leader of the Many-Starred Cloaks had sent them to breach the castle through its escape tunnel, while he and his men continued their barrage at the entrance as cover. Sarina could feel the tension rising within her group as they felt their window of opportunity to halt the ritual close, as more time passed. The underground tunnel was filled with so many complex, hidden traps that even Neeshka struggled to locate all of them. The nauseous anxiety that haunted Sarina hit with a vengeance, and she struggled to keep down her lunch as they picked their way through the tunnels. After what felt like hours crawling through the dark, they finally found the trapdoor into the Keep. It opened to reveal a very old and very chaotic library, as well as one very confused old sage.

“Oh I say…. I remember you. You were the one with those interesting silver shards.”

She had to force down a giggle, poor Aldanon had no idea of the gruesome ceremony he was kidnapped to be a part of. Nor the astronomical amount of peril they were all currently in.

“It’s good to see you again Aldanon. Did you know you've been imprisoned?”

“Ah yes, now I remember, I was captured wasn’t I? Truth be told, I’d quite forgotten about it. They gave me all these tomes to read and I just lost track of time…”

Neeshka leant over his desk to stare at him, “They brought you here to _read_?”

“Yes, these books are quite unusual. They all concern some sort of horrific ritual, something about bringing shadows and power to all the recipients involved. I did tell them that such an undertaking might be unwise, the results could cause untold damage... well, to everyone except themselves. That’s also on the proviso that they did it right, it’s very unstable.  I do hope they aren’t conducting this ritual right now, the slightest disruption could have lethal consequences. A spell of that magnitude would take weeks to prepare for, not to mention at all the wards one would have to be silly to forgo…”

Sarina whipped around to face the others, “Weeks eh? Doubt they would have had the time to put much in place yet. That’s how we stop Garius from completing it!”

Sand nodded, “Let’s just hope there isn’t any lethal consequences for the interrupters.”

 “Hm. Aldanon, did they ask about anything else?”

“We had some good conversations. They asked very pointed questions, not at all like an interrogation, and no torture was involved.”

“I’m glad to hear that actually. But any details would be a big help.”

He stroked the long white hairs of his beard, “Oh, well we discussed the shards of course. Talked quite a bit about those… how the more you have, the greater the resonance. He did mention that now you have them all, he should hunt you down to acquire them.”

“Well that rings a bell. Thank you Aldanon, now quick, get out of here and warn Neverwinter.”

Aldanon did as he was told, but ever the scholar, only after stopping to grab armfuls of books before he disappeared into the dank tunnel.

 Scores of Luskan wizards lined the halls of the keep, but luckily for them, most were concentrating on the Many Starred Cloak blasting spells on the other side of the main doors. Several put up a decent fight, but the Arcane Brotherhood didn’t appear to have brought that many of their own in number.

 Shandra kicked the last Brotherhood mage from her sword before she wrenched open the huge oak doors to the keep.

Vale strode inside and whistled appreciatively, “Nice work, don’t suppose you left any Luskans for us now?”

Bishop scowled, “Why bother? You wouldn't have done anything anyway.”

“Don't let him bother you - he's always like this.”

There was a loud explosion as an incredible wave of energy rolled through the keep. Daylight that was streaming in through windows and cracks in the walls, dimmed unnaturally as dark magic emanated from the floor under them. The very air itself grew cold and just felt _wrong_. Evil.

Sand groaned, the first to cut through the ensuring silence. He clutches his head as he leaned on his staff for support, “Ah... this would be the "impending" part of our impending doom.”

Sarina rubbed her temple in agreement, “Uh, I feel so weak. Something’s not right at all. Aldanon claimed Black Garius was preparing a dark ritual. Looks like he was right, they’re doing it right this second!”

“Black Garius? Here? Then our chances against him are slim, and I’m being rather optimistic when I say that.”

The urge to slap Vale for that choice sentence was overwhelming indeed, but after praying furiously for patience, Sarina unclenched her fist. So much for the ‘Cloaks’ being Neverwinter’s finest…

“We’ve come through this far, we might as well see things through to the end right? Besides, according to Aldanon all we have to do is interrupt the ritual and we’ve stopped him. With any luck the dozey bastard will have forgotten to put some decent wards up.”

Bishop unsheathed his bow, aiming at Vale’s head, “Agreed. Enough talking - let's get Garius. We don't need this fool's help.”

Vale, to his credit, didn’t react to the arrow pointing at his face, nor the insult.

“The entrance to the lower level is back through the main hall. This hallway is the only way in or out of the Keep, so the Cloaks will cover this route. Good luck friends.”

Sarina nodded as they started towards the main hall, “And you.”

She pretended not to notice when Bishop fired the arrow, but luckily for Vale it was aimed just above his head. He certainly reacted that time though.

 

 

Black Garius himself, master of the fifth tower, was stood inside a gigantic summoning circle in the basement of the keep. The glowing lines of the circle cast him in an unnatural purple light, shining off his smooth white skin and making him look more ethereal than man. Sarina blanched as she noticed the several masked Shadow priests casting feverishly around the circle. Shadow priests were royally tough to kill just by themselves, a fact she’d learnt almost ever since she’d first left West Harbour. It was as dark as night despite the many flaming sconces along the walls, and the waves of malevolent energy swept from Garius like waves of water. The ritual was nearly complete, and within moments Garius would have the god-like powers of the King of Shadows. He would be unstoppable in his eradication of Neverwinter, and the re-shaping of Faerun in his image.

As he turned to face them, a sudden fear froze Sarina where she stood in the doorway, rendering her unable to move or do anything but observe in numb shock. She’d done her usual trick of charging headfirst into a situation without fully realising the gravity of it.  But there was no ignoring the seriousness of the situation now, not when the embodiment of the dark weave itself was about to arise before them. Her companions stood motionless behind her, either unwilling to press forward or equally unable. It was exquisite torture, watching the scene before her unfold and being unable to even attempt to stop it, but the feeling of pure terror had fully taken hold. She felt terrified tears roll down her cheek as she repeated the same words over and over again in her mind;

_It’s too late. We’re all going to die._

A gauntleted hand grabbed hers and squeezed tightly. She stared down at it dully for a moment, surprised at its presence. It was a small act, but it was enough to snap her out of the terrified daze. Her mind raced as it struggled to catch up to the situation at hand. Black Garius had nearly completed the spell, and they were outnumbered by the Brotherhood and their Shadow Priests.

But if Aldanon was right, all they had to do was stop them from concentrating on the volatile spell, just for a moment…

“Hey assholes!”

She summoned a simple fireball and lobbed it unceremoniously at Black Garius himself.


	20. Gith Gaffe

Sarina poked idly at a piece of stonework that had come loose in the castle wall. The sounds of stone being cut and chiselled, and of wood being hammered into place, surrounded her as at least two dozen craftsman worked industriously on the crumbling castle. Crossroad Keep was being rebuilt back to its former glory after years of being left to ruin slowly in the warm Neverwinter sun.

 _Crossroad Keep. Her_ Keep.

She’d never get used to hearing that, ‘her Keep’.

_Keep, Keep, Keep. I’m Knight Captain of this Keep. Knight Captain Farlong. Knight Captain Sarina Farlong. Of Crossroad Keep._

 

It was incredible… and utterly terrifying. How often did a peasant farmer from some backwater village get to become de-facto nobility, and ruler of their own bloody castle too boot? Lord Nasher’s court and the surrounding Blacklake nobility must have been beside themselves at the news. Truth be told, she’d expected _some_ kind of compensation for killing Black Garius and the Shadow Priests, but this was absolutely unbelievable.

Of course, Lord Nasher hadn’t just given her Crossroad Keep as a reward; it now fell to her to oversee the rebuilding the castle and the surrounding lands. She was also expected to build an army capable of taking on the King of Shadows when he finally re-appeared. Garius had been more of a lieutenant for the King of Shadows, and agent of his will upon this plane. Although killing him had saved Neverwinter for the moment, there had been many reports that the real threat was still gathering in the Mere of Dead Men, waiting for its master’s return.  Time was slowly running out before the inevitable battle against the Shadow, and so Lord Nasher had ordered every half decent builder and stone mason in Neverwinter to work on Crossroad Keep. Despite this, everyone was in a jovial mood after the defeat of Garius. There was a sense of victory in the air, a real feeling that Shadow could be defeated again, and this was the place it would happen. The Keep was really shaping up to be something special.

She turned her attention from the stone to the commotion to her left. The newly assigned head engineer to the re-building was a strange little man named Veedle. He was currently alternating between rifling through his blueprints and plans, to make adjustments here and there, and shouting orders at the workers dotted around the castle. Grobnar was stood to Veedle’s side grinning enthusiastically as he poured over the Blueprints and made his own (rather worrying) additions.  Lord Nasher had also assigned a prestigious military officer named Kana to help oversee the running of the Keep, and the formation of its army. Kana was a very serious and regimented officer, something Sarina knew she’d come to both find extremely valuable and likely rather irritating in the days to come. But when it came to the renovation of a keep this size, and forming an army, Sarina would need all the assistance that was offered. The Keep had fallen once to the King of Shadows in the last war, but she’d be damned if it would fall a second time under her command.

 

A flash of blue appeared next to her right, and she turned to see an unarmoured Casavir waiting patiently to speak to her. Though she’d seen him unarmoured plenty of times before, she still marvelled at how different he looked without his usual full plate armour on. He looked smaller without it, but still quite bigger in stature than the average man. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue shirt to reveal his large, muscled forearms, probably in preparation to help one of the stone workers haul stone for the walls. The sight of them was thought-provoking indeed.

She bit her lip, suddenly feeling a little nervous. She still hadn’t properly thanked him for bringing her to her senses in front of the Arcane Brotherhood’s ritual. She knew it was his small gesture that had steeled her to cast the first blow; and that in doing so he had saved her life, saved all their lives down in that vault. She’d always suffered from bouts of Anxiety, even as a child. She’d scolded herself many times in the days that followed the defeat of Garius, memories of the sheer terror haunting her at random points during the day. Elanee had confided in her afterward how terrified she had felt, and yet for her friend, she could comfort her, and tell her that fear was a completely normal reaction. But not for herself. The voice in the back of her mind continued to berate her; for Ember, for pausing in the face of danger, for Lorne even. Sarina gripped the stone in front of her with both hands to steady herself. Could she be a leader with fears like that? There was no time to answer that question, as Casavir approached, so she plastered a smile on her face and shelved those thoughts away for later. The butterflies started their usual dance in her stomach as he neared.

 “So _Knight-Captain_ , do you find everything in your new Keep up to scratch?” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. His posture remained as stiff and formal as ever, in stark contrast to the near playful tone.

“Why yes thank you Casavir, every piece of rubble and speck of dust is exactly as it should be. Crumbling castles are the new ‘in’ thing across Faerun, don’t you know? Would you like a tour of my new castle?”

After a moment of comprehending, he offered his arm. She took it, giggling quietly to herself at her own joke. At least she amused herself, she thought.

“Lead on, my lady.”

She led him around the front of castle, where they could see the entire building. Both of them stared back and forth along it as they surveyed their new home. Several large cracks ran through the castle as it had subsided over the years, and the roof had even caved in fully in places. Veedle would have his work cut out rebuilding this level of decay, not to mention the cost of taking on such a task. With the cost of re-building such an impressive Keep and attached village, she almost felt sorry for Lord Nasher’s coffers.

  _Almost._

She tapped the arm she had linked in hers, feeling unusually giddy; “Right then, I promised you a tour, didn’t I? If you look over here, you’ll see the numerous holes in the roof of the West Wing. I heard patchy roofs were ‘de rigueur’ in the fashionable city of Silverymoon, and so had quite a few installed right here at the Keep. And now if look over to your right…” she manoeuvred him so he was facing out over the little village within the castle boundaries, “there you can see the many burnt out or shambling carcasses of what once were buildings. Actual structurally-sound buildings are SO last year. There’s just no fun in living in a place where you know there isn’t a chance it could fall down around your head any second!”

“Ah, of course. Living in a stable dwelling… who’d want that?”

It was a lame joke, but for some reason he was playing along. Casavir must have been in an unusually playful mood that day, she was pleased to discover. Maybe the jovial atmosphere of rebuilding the place was even rubbing off on him. Whatever it was, she decided she liked it.

“Quite. Anyway I had the huge cracks in the walls added as a flourish. They really add to the atmosphere of ‘absolute crap hole that’s just about to collapse’, don’t you think darling?”

He exhaled quietly, “And what about the overgrown road to the Keep that’s near impossible to walk on?”

“That’s to keep out the unfashionable riff-raff obviously. Can’t have just any old commoner rocking up and thinking they own the place y’know.”

He raised his eyebrow, looking rather bemused, “I see, I never pegged you as a follower of fashion my lady.”

Feeling reckless by both his proximity and the beautiful forearm wrapped around her own, she lowered her voice and bit her lip a little to flirt back, “Well then, I guess you’ve still got a lot to learn about me, Paladin.”

She looked at him to see how he’d react to her blatant flirting. She hoped he wouldn’t take it as her being sarcastic, but he’d managed to court Ophala of the Moonstone Mask some years before, so surely he had some game, she reckoned. To her surprise, he showed no wariness whatsoever, apart from a very slight reddening of his ears. Smile gone, he stepped slowly toward her, eyes flicking to her lips briefly before back to smouldering at hers.

“In that case, I look forward to you teaching me more about you.”

The Paladin of Tyr had game alright. He smirked roguishly as her mouth fell open. The warm yearning in her stomach flooded her mind, and whether consciously or unconsciously, she leant in towards him.

He leant forward also, leaning to whisper in her ear, “You’ll have to teach me more about fashion another time Knight Captain, it seems there’s somebody else who would like to take up some of your time.”

He gestured behind her to the githzerai, Zhjaeve, who was waiting awkwardly, clearly desperate to speak with her. They had rescued Zhjaeve alongside Aldanon during the re-taking of Crossroad Keep. She’d only really briefly explained how she’d travelled from her plane to aid them in combatting the King of Shadows, so it now looked like she was ready to discuss this in greater detail.

Casavir gently took her arm from his, bowed formally and with a nod to the Gith, marched back to Veedle’s workers. She stared after him, still feeling slightly dazed by his uncharacteristic flirting. Remembering she had an audience, she cleared her throat and shook the daze from her head.

“Zhjaeve, it’s good to see you. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I do wish to speak with you. This plane is a beautiful one, it is not surprising that our enemies wish to mar it with their blades and their war.”

Zhjaeve was even worse at being ‘floaty and mysterious’ than Elanee was, though at least Zhjaeve had the excuse of being from a completely different plane. From the minute they’d first met, she thought the poor githzerai looked lost and utterly confused by this world.  Yet she had persevered, and somehow travelled from her home plane of existence to Faerun, with the goal of helping her enemy’s enemy succeed where the Githyanki had not. The gith steepled her fingers in thought, as she waited for Sarina to speak.

“I need you to tell me what you know of this threat.”

“Know this - the first glimpses of this conflict you have seen are not the first. They are but glimpses of things that travel well into the past and the present. It is all part of a greater war, a war almost as great as the one that split my people on the sword of Gith long ago, and the tragedy is tied to such a blade. These shadows you see... there is a Lord who dwells in darkness with them.”

“The King of Shadows, yes.”

The veil that covered the lower half of her face blew out more fiercely as Zhjaeve spoke more harshly, “The King of Shadows was not always tied to darkness, and that is part of the tragedy. His will was once devoted to an ancient empire, to the protection of its people.”

“Wait, he was once a mortal man?!”

“Yes, he was once the light of Illefarn, empowered with the strength to protect them from their enemies... and he was bound to the natural magics of the plane, the Weave. But as much as a ritual created the Guardian that was to be Shadow, there is a ritual that will unmake him. It is a Ritual of Purification, designed to allow him peace when his days of sacrifice are done and the empire needs him no longer.”

“So that’s it then, we undergo this ritual of Purification and we can kill him. Similar to what we did to Black Garius.”

The gith paused, eyes narrowed at Sarina as she surveyed her carefully, “Do you know why the gith call you Kalach-Cha?”

“…”

“It is because you are the ‘Shard-bearer’, the ‘Kalach-Cha’. The shard you carry is a shard from the blade of Gith herself. It is within you, near your heart. It has shaped you.”

 _Holy shit._ THE Gith herself.

“…wow. No wonder Zeeaire and the Githyanki were so desperate to get it back.”

“Know that you must reforge the blade, and use it once more in battle. At the battle of the darkness, the two of us shall meet the King in his fortress and it shall become a battle of three. And when it is over, the two of us shall walk in the light – just as Gith and Zerthimon did when they broke the will of the Illithid of Sagrassa’s End.”

“I - thank you, Zhjaeve, and I welcome your help.”

And so, another vagabond had been added to the group, this one even stranger than rest. Grobnar would have a field day.


	21. O West Harbour

Travelling through the Song Portal was a very strange feeling, rather like being drunk then spinning around until colours and flashes whizzed past at dizzying speeds. It wasn’t a ‘fun’ method of travel by anyone’s standards, but Zhjaeve had sensed the last ritual of purification was in the shadow claimed lands, and so it was a necessary evil.  But despite it being an uncomfortable way to travel, there was something thrilling about harnessing ancient magics from a civilisation long past. The statues of purification themselves had spoken directly to her conscious, gifting strange cleansing powers which settled into her mind and skin like she’d known them forever. The people of Illefarn had been much more magically gifted than those of modern Neverwinter; so ambitious in their designs yet lacking the practicality their descendants relied upon for survival. But despite all their knowledge and ability, they couldn’t find a way to defeat the Netheril, and so they’d created _him_ – first the Guardian, then the King of Shadows. What was it Sand had once said? That the road to the Hells was paved with good intentions? She hadn’t understood the sentiment at the time, just received yet another disbelieving look from the Moon Elf when she asked him what it meant. Well she was damn sure of the meaning now.

One by one, they stumbled from the web of colour onto hard ground. The portal had deposited them in some dilapidated, old Mere village. The sky around the empty village was a strange, sickly green and ominous shadows clung to the air and darkened the sun’s rays. The murky, damp air seemed to seep into the bones, leeching the warmth and strength from them. She caught Sand’s eye as he turned to survey their surroundings, and he made a ‘let’s wrap this up’ wind milling gesture with his free hand. She shot him a confident double thumbs up in reply, to which he simply rolled his eyes and carried on. This place, wherever it was, gave her the creeps.

But it was the smell that troubled her the most. It smelt of death and burnt wood, but also of something else, something much more familiar. Like stale Hay and Duckweed, and Willow trees hanging over muddy water. Panic rising, she spun around frantically trying to identify some of the ruined buildings, desperately praying she was wrong. It was then she saw it, blackened and barely distinguishable from the other ruins, but she’d recognise it in any conceivable state. It was the Starling farm.

 “What is this place? It looks like a ruined village but…” somebody spoke.

“It’s West Harbour.” Her voice cracked. “Oh gods, its West Harbour.”

 

 

“Not exactly a happy homecoming festival huh? Sorry, I saw the look on your face when we arrived.”

 _That’s the understatement of the century, Shandra_.

“Yeah, shit… I just wish I’d been here to defend it… or something.”

“I never even knew you came from a _Mere_ village, I heard stories about villages bordering the Mere as a child, but I never imagined anything like this! I thought you’d come from somewhere special, y’know like a sweeping castle, somewhere really amazing…”

Sarina waved her hand at the scene around them meekly, “Well, it’s the truth. There’s nothing amazing about little old West Harbour, especially not now. It’s stupid really, I thought leaving here would have kept it safe from the troubles that followed me. I guess I was wrong on that count.”

“You left to save your village? I’m impressed, even if you did ruin my whole life by doing so. Still, you did what you did for the right reasons. So don’t go blaming yourself… if you do, I mean.”

“Yeah well, unintentionally ruining lives has become a daily feature of my life, so you don’t need to feel especially victimised by me.” She’d meant it to sound like more of a joke, but even to her ears it just sounded bitter.

Shandra’s face crumpled. “Sarina, I’m sorry...”

 “Don’t be.”

She didn’t say anything else after that. Sarina felt the guilt flare at talking like crap to one of her favourite companions, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say sorry to Farm Girl, not in this place. A cold fury flooded through her veins as she took in the remains of her beloved home village. The bodies of Retta, Georg and Brother Merring increased her fury as she came across them one by one, until she was shivering with a barely contained rage. It wasn’t the Neverwintan custom to cremate the dead, but she’d torched each one with her magic from a distance, unable to bear leaving them to decay in such a foul place. She couldn’t stop the wracking sobs as she cast, anger fuelling her spells to burn hotter and hotter.

Casavir approached slowly as she worked, concern flashing across his face. “My-“

“ _Save it_.” She hissed.

She didn’t want the sympathy, couldn’t handle it when so many she knew were much more deserving of it, as they lay in their ruined homes and fields. His mouth snapped shut and he nodded once in understanding. She sensed him leave and felt eternally grateful to be left to grieve alone. She slid to the floor, feeling numb, and watched the ashes swirled away in the breeze.

A little while later, she heard footsteps approach where she was sitting. She had forgotten completely about the rest of her group, but couldn’t bring herself to care about what they were doing. Zhjaeve unfortunately, being of another plane entirely, didn’t quite grasp her desire to be left alone.

“Know that this is not our intended destination, something is wrong.”

“You don’t say?”

The gith ploughed on, either ignoring or unaware. “We are close to where we were meant to be.  Are there any ancient Illefarn structures near your birth village? If so, that is where we must go.”

“There’s ruins nearby in the swamp - it's where we found the first shard. I don’t know if they’re ancient Illefarn but they’re certainly old.” She pointed her finger toward the swamp. “Just out the main path then over there to the left. Now go.”

Zhjaeve tapped her spear, “Yes, then that is our true destination... yet only something of great power could have turned away our arrival from the ruins, even if they are close by.”

Another set of footsteps approached, this time sounding heavily armoured and determined. She sighed, angrily. He was back again, checking again on his charge.

“Great, you go see to that. I’m going to search for survivors, alone. I’ll catch up to you guys.”

Casavir blanched, “You can’t stay here on your own, it’s too dangerous. We’ll help sear…”

“What part of ‘alone’ do you not understand?”

He scowled spectacularly, eyebrows knitted together in obvious frustration. Everything in his paladin training probably screamed at him to not walk away from a potential damsel in distress, but here she was telling him to sod off. 

“With all due respect my lady, with what Zhjaeve said, it’s not safe for any of us to go alone.”

“Do I need to make it an order, Casavir?”

He gasped, silent anger rolling off him as he stared incredulously.  Crossing his gauntleted arms, he pulled himself up to his full height.  Schooling his face into a carefully neutral expression as he replied in a low voice. “No, Knight-Captain.”

“Good. Now _go_ , both of you.”

Zhjaeve crouched down so she was at eye level, gripping her spear for support, “Kalach-Cha, our time here is running out. It is you who needs to complete the last ritual, before it is too late…”

“Look around, it’s already too late.”

The crippling sorrow hit in full force as she stormed away from her companions. They probably wouldn’t leave for the ruins without her, despite the orders to the contrary. Casavir was right, it was too dangerous for anyone to be on their own with the shadows so close by, but to have her allies, her friends looking at her so sympathetically, look at her village with sadness, it was more than she could bear. As soon as she was certain they were out of sight, she ran full speed to Daeghun’s home on the edge of the village.

 

 

 

 

“ _Here_ you are. Got everyone worried sick, thinking you’d fallen in a ditch somewhere.”

She looked up from sitting on the door step of her old home. She was glad it was Khelgar, in front of anyone else she’d feel ashamed of the tear tracks down her cheeks. But for whatever reason, she was never embarrassed in front of ‘Bosom buddy no. 1’. The apology for the earlier outburst stuck in her chest, but Khelgar probably wouldn’t appreciate it anyway. There was never any need to explain things like that to him, and for that she adored him.

“So kiddo, did you er – find anything in there?”

He meant the remains of her foster-father. She’d half-expected to find something of Daeghun amidst the burned wood, but no trace of the elf was nowhere to be found, to her utter relief.

“No, thank the gods. I couldn’t find my old best friend either… maybe they escaped somehow, its possible right? Everybody else is here though.”

He nodded, tight-lipped. Placing his axe carefully on the ground, he turned and sat on the step next to her. They sat in silence for a few minutes as the wind blew through the ruined buildings around them. It carried ash and dust in swirling patterns through the fields of wheat. She hid her face in her hands and sobbed until the salt burned her cheeks. After a while, she lifted her head. “It’s West Habour Khelgar. With everything’s that’s happened… I thought after all this was over… It’s my home.”

He wrapped his armour covered arm around her shaking shoulders and sighed heavily, “I know it is lass, I know it is.”

She wept and shook for quite some time, while Khelgar held her shoulders firmly. He kept holding her until she’d quietened, after which he offered her a manky old handkerchief which she took gratefully to blow her nose.

“Y’know you’re going to have to apologise to the Farm Girl, Gith and the Paladin, don’t you? I know you’ve had a horrible shock, but they are your friends. They’re here to help you.”

Her heart sank even further, “I’ve been a bitch haven’t I?”

“Yeah but I’m sure they’ll forgive you. Come on.” He slapped her knee, “We’ve got a ritual to complete. The King of Shadows won’t off himself for us.”

He stood quickly and grabbed his Axe on the way. He held his free hand out and pulled her up from the step roughly.

“Thanks Khelgar.”

He grunted non-committedly in reply, but she caught a small smile from underneath his great beard.


	22. Yours As Long As Life Endures

The ritual of Purification had been testing. Seeing West Harbour destroyed, much more so. So much had happened in so little time, and each victory they achieved was always marred by another loss elsewhere. The journey back from Arvahn had been a quiet one, especially as her companions had barely talked to her on the way back. But whether that was because they wanted to give her space, or because they were angry with her, she didn’t know. She’d given her apologies to each person individually, one by one, the very next day. It had been an awkward but a necessary task, and the relief she felt afterward was almost tangible.

Days later and the blow from West Harbour still wounded her like a well-aimed arrow, but getting the final silver shard they needed was a success she couldn’t discount. The next step was to get the information on how to assemble the sword, from Jerro’s Haven. But it was agreed all round, that even though they had the location of the Haven already, the task would be delayed for a few days while they rested. She had shut herself away for the first couple of days, but with so much still to do at the Keep, it wasn’t long before Kana came knocking. So she filed the loss and guilt away, promising to deal with all once either they or the King of Shadows lay dead.

 

It was one chilly, late afternoon where she’d found Casavir pacing absentmindedly in the war room of the castle. She watched him for a few bemusing moments until he caught sight of her and stopped dead in his tracks. She felt a nick of guilt as she remembered their angry exchange in the ruins of West Harbour only a few days before. She’d apologised profusely, despite his insistence that she’d caused him no real offence. It probably would have been better if he had shown even slight annoyance at her pulling rank on him, but as usual he’d pardoned her with the polite neutrality she’d grown to despise. Even though he claimed that she had every right to be angry after the destruction of home, she still felt a little awkward around him. And quite ashamed at the memory.

“Is everything alright Casavir? You look a little troubled today.”

He stood stock still as he regarded her, radiating his usual aura of calm, though the wringing of his hands gave away his apprehension. What exactly he was apprehensive about was a mystery. He’d probably lost his prayer beads or some other utterly pointless Paladin-related problem, she thought privately with an unusual spite. She quickly chastised her own thoughts, surprised at the vehemence of the annoyance at him. Turning her own grief and anxiety onto her friends wasn’t something she had ever done before, and this new behaviour worried her. Sarina knew she needed her companions support and friendship more than ever before, with Casavir being one of the ones she relied on most.

“I am fine. Thank you for your concern, my lady.”

“Oh, OK. I’ll leave you to it then.”

 “Actually, is there any chance we could go somewhere private please? I would like to speak with you, alone.”

_Well that sounds ominous._

She quietened the nervous flair in her stomach as best she could, “Uh yeah sure. However I’m not sure there’s much chance of us getting any privacy in this ruin of a Keep. Oh! Wait, I’ve just had a new Bear skin rug put in my bedroom, come on I’ll show it to you!”

She spun on her heel and walked away quickly, cursing the heated cheeks. After a second’s hesitation, she heard him following her through the corridor and toward her chambers.

_Oh my word… a new rug?! Why did I say that? Real smooth Reens._

 

 

They stood staring at the new fur rug in front of her fireplace in silence.

“It is - a very nice rug, my lady.

“…yeah.”

“Very fashionable indeed.”

“Well, you know me.”

She wondered if he’d mind if she just clambered up the chimney to escape the awkwardness. Judging by the way he was eyeing the burning fireplace, he was probably having the same thoughts.

 “How are you fairing, my lady? After West Harbour… getting the final shard to re-forge Gith’s blade? You don’t have to answer if you don’t wish to. You’ve probably had enough questions since we’ve returned to Crossroad Keep.”

“No, no it’s fine. Good and bad, you know? It’s getting better as it sinks in, the same as it does with all bad news I suspect.”

Despite the sheer improbability of it, she still held out a sliver of hope for Bevil and for her father. There was a chance they’d gotten away from the attack, and that was a hope she’d keep lit when the grief hit hard. She still felt great waves of sadness, despite her promise to file it for later. But life had to continue as normal at Crossroad Keep. It needed its Knight Captain to work at full capacity, and that’s what’s she swore she’d do. She’d started to feel better once she’d apologised to her friends and cried her tears. Now it was time to concentrate on the things to come, on preparing for war.

She smiled tentatively, “Anyway, have I mentioned enough times that I’m so sorry for my outburst on that day? Because I truly am. I’m still rather ashamed if I’m being honest.”

“Please, don’t be. And to answer your question – yes, there’s really no need to apologise. I understand. I’ve always understood.”

His eyes softened as he looked down at her face, and her heart seemed to stop altogether as she stared back up at him. He really was a good looking man, especially when observed from only inches away.

The flames from the fireplace shone brightly in his dark blue eyes, and cast a pleasant orange glow on his pale, sculpted face. Her breath caught as he pursed his lips, and mental images of kissing them roughly, dominated her every thought, elicited from his simple gesture. As he was much taller than her, she’d have to reach up and pull his face down to hers. She imagined how he’d look, stooped over her and hair mussed. Gods she longed to passionately rake her hands through his carefully combed hair. To nip at those perfect lips and…

Suddenly aware she was staring, she mentally shook her head and scrambled for something normal to say. “SO, what was it you wanted to talk about again?”

_Focus_

He opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and shut it again. Twice. Whatever it was he wanted to discuss, he was clearly struggling with how to word it. It made her rather nervous, Casavir was a lot of things, but most of all he was a confident, experienced man, and not usually one to struggle with serious conversation. It must have been something bad to unnerve him that much.

He sighed heavily, frowning deeply as he looked as though he were a man on his way to the gallows. “I… have been struggling with some feelings of late, and need to speak with you, confess them to you.”

She dared barely breathe while he paused. He was going to tell her he couldn’t travel with them anymore, she just knew it. Grief was no excuse for the way she blew up at him in West Harbour, he had every right to pack up and leave after the way she spoke to him. He was too good to be her companion, she’d always known it. But to hear it from his own lips, now that would devastate her. And to think that she’d been fantasising about kissing him only moments before. Her heart sank as she tried to steel herself for what he was about to say next.

“Sarina, I am loyal to you. Do not doubt this. But there are times when I find my duty comes second, and I do not wish such feelings to place you in jeopardy. I do not mean insult by this, you are more than capable. But I find myself turning to you, rather than to the task at hand. I see to your safety before attending to the matters that affect us all as a group. I am worried others may suffer based on my decisions.”

She scratched her head, hurriedly trying to assess what she’d heard correctly from his monologue. Well he wasn’t leaving, which was a huge relief to say the least. But what on Abeir Toril was he on about, ‘turning to you rather than the task at hand’?

 “I’m not sure I understand. Are you saying you have feelings for me?”

“I wish to… protect you, yes.”

“Pro…”

“I’ve been having… deliberations _,_ with myself – for some time now. I’ve been wondering if I could risk falling again… but it seems so different this time, _so right_. But, then how can I protect you if I… I’m so…ah!”

“What are you talking about? If you so what, Casavir?”

He hesitated before speaking curtly, “I do not wish to speak of it further. Still, telling you of it has settled my mind, thank you.”

And with that, he pulled away and marched out of the bedroom, carefully shutting the door behind him.

_Wait, what?_

She was beyond relieved he wasn’t going to pack up and leave as she predicted, that was something. But why had he been so nervous, what was that speech all about? Did he just confess he had feelings for her, in his own strange way?

If so, it was rather bizarre. He was so incredibly different from the playful and flirtatious man she’d ‘toured’ the castle with only a short time ago. Perhaps he’d sat down to really consider what the earlier flirting meant? Maybe he didn’t want their friendship to change from the way it was? Or maybe seeing her lose her composure in West Harbour had convinced him they were better off as mere allies? It was like there was two distinct sides to him; one that drank a little wine and flirted and joked, and one that was so married to his calling that he barely seemed human.

She quickly made the conscious decision to dial back her behaviour towards him. It only seemed to cause him anxiety and that just didn’t seem fair, especially after recent events. If he wanted to progress their companionship, then that would be entirely up him. The last thing she wanted was for him to worry about going against his vows as a Paladin, with whatever ‘it’ was they were. Her stomach dropped. If there was even anything going on, that was. Nothing had actually happened to suggest that there _was_ anything going on, other than friendly banter between companions. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realised their closeness was probably a figment of her overactive (and very visual) imagination. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened.

The bedroom door suddenly slammed open, making her jump, and a determined looking Casavir strode resolutely back toward her. He stopped only a few inches away to where she still stood in front of the fire.

“I apologise Knight Captain, I lied. I do want to speak of it further.”

He stepped purposely to her, threading one hand through her long hair, and the other gently but securely around her waist. Ever so slowly, he leant down toward her, eyes fixed intently on hers before fluttering shut as he came a hair’s breadth away from her face. She shut her eyes just before his lips touched hers. He kissed her softly, hand moving out of her hair to stroke along her jaw with his thumb. All her worries and cares simply melted away as every sense was consumed by the want of him. 

 She pulled him closer, and held him tightly around his middle as he continued to kiss her tenderly. It was so tender and romantic, everything she’d dreamed it would ever since she first began to think of him that way. His much larger frame above her and pressed onto her, felt better than she could possibly describe. All she knew was that it felt even better than she’d imagined, so real, and warm, and infinitely superior to any other man she’d ever kissed before. And best of all, he’d initiated it.

 He stopped and pulled back a fraction to look at her face, his hand still cupping her jaw. She couldn’t stop the rush of disappointment that he’d stopped, and wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss him and never stop. His eyes, so soft and full of affection, suddenly looked nervous, and she realised he was waiting for her to say something. She slowly reached up and stroked his face, fingertips tracing the curve of his cheekbone down to his perfect, sculpted jaw.

“So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about again?”

Her voice was surprisingly husky. He looked blank for a moment, then smirked wickedly, making her want to do nothing but pull him down on top of her onto her new rug.

“I think we just about covered it then, Knight-Captain.”

“Oh. Well that’s… that’s good then.”

He let out a breath of laughter, “I am exceptionally glad you think so, my lady.”

She stretched up to him and kissed him slightly more urgently. He groaned quietly in response, and she felt the bolt of desire burning through her at the sound. Pulling him down and closer toward her, she kissed him over and over again, until time became a non-entity compared with the taste of him and the joy of him kissing her back with equal fervour.

After a while, he pulled away gently, but not before kissing her languidly on the lips. With a wonderful warmth in his deep voice, he spoke quietly, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone. You’re… so beautiful. But I-I’m not sure how to do this, I’d never forgive myself if I ruined this forever. It’s been so long.”

“Do you want to go for a drink sometime? Like, just the two of us?”

 “You are asking me if I would like to go on a date, Sarina?”

“Err… yes?”

He smiled, “That would be perfect.”

“Great!”

They stood staring at one another for she didn’t know how long. He bit his lip as his eyes wandered down to her mouth, and her breath caught in her throat.

“I better get back, my lady. I’ve been neglecting my duties assisting Kana’s sergeants with the troop training. They’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.”

He really didn’t sound convinced by his own words, and made no move to leave. In fact, if anything he seemed to be leaning closer.

“Yeah, me too. So many things to do…”

His mouth against hers cut off her sentence. She was amazed at how soft and affectionately he was kissing her, it made the butterflies dance wildly in her stomach as her knees grew weak. He rested his cheek against hers and just held her silently for a few moments.

“I really do have to get back” He whispered.

“I know.”

He kissed her forehead and strode out of her room, again shutting the door carefully behind him. She stared after him, and wondered that despite everything that had happened, when it was she got so lucky.


	23. The Re-Forging of Hope

Ammon Jerro stood staring into the fireplace of the Phoenix Tail Inn. He was not a bit like his salt-of-the-earth granddaughter. He certainly had her fire, but within him it was twisted into a banal sort of evil, alongside a stunning arrogance.

 He was a poor substitution for Shandra, and as cruel as it sounded she’d have given anything for their places to be switched. It just wasn’t right that her friend lay forever broken in the Haven, while this monster carrying the Jerro name aided them in her place.

It pained her greatly to have to speak to him after they returned, when all she wanted to do was burn him where he stood. The Gods would understand she reasoned, it would be a just punishment for what he had done to Shandra.

 But without him, they’d all die well before they ever got to face the King of Shadows. Ammon Jerro was the only person alive with any knowledge on how to face him. And more importantly, how to hurt him.

What was it Sand had once said? That the road to the Hells was paved with good intentions? She hadn’t understood the sentiment at the time, just received yet another disbelieving look from the Moon Elf when she asked him what it meant. Well she was damn sure of the meaning now.

 

“Why did you bring her to my Haven?” Ammon asked accusingly.

“We had no choice, we needed your research on the King of Shadows. I never would have brought her if we’d known more about the Haven. We honestly believed a drop of her blood would have been enough…”

She paused. The tears sprung unbidden, and she wiped them away angrily. It was too soon, still too raw. “What do you know of him, the King of Shadows?”

“I fought him before, many years ago. I have made... pacts... I have studied him, tried to learn his weaknesses and the extent of his power. And always, it has been a war with few victories.”

“And what is the extent of his power, Jerro?”

He breathed out heavily through his nose, “Great. The King of Shadows was once a defender of the Illefarn empire - while now evil and corrupt, it still holds true to its original purpose... to destroy all that threatens Illefarn.”

“We learned that in the ruins at Arvahn, from the ritual. But why? The Illefarn empire disappeared long ago, there’s nothing left to protect.”

“That is irrelevant - the threat to Illefarn still exists. Their once-ancient enemies, the Netheril, still live on in the City of Shade here in Faerun, and traces of Netherese magic can still be found running in the veins of many wizards and sorcerers within the Realms.”

“Every native to Neverwinter probably has some trace of that magic in their blood. It’s been thousands of years since he went to the Weave.”

His eyes narrowed as he turned to face her, “Yes, just as I just said Girl. Not only that, but it is what it will do trying to reach there that should concern you. Its journey will turn leagues of teeming land into a lifeless road to its destination. Even worse, it will feed on everything around it to gain strength to destroy the city.”

_Well. Shit._

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could just point him in the direction of Luskan instead? Tell him the place is just filled to the brim full of the Netheril? Those pirates are overdue a good massacre.”

The stare from him made her bladder constrict worryingly.

“Then tell us how we hurt him then.”

“For the last time, the King of Shadows is no mortal creature - he is not human, more a force than anything else.” He spat angrily.

“YOU hurt him, you managed to defeat him once – albeit temporally.”

The other patrons were starting to stare at their exchange, not to mention the worried looks from her companions were burning into the back of her head.

“Yes, there is something that will hurt him, those shards you have collected. As a part of Gith’s sword lodged in your chest, it lent some of its power to you as you grew. And whether you like it or not, you are now a part of that weapon. Together, we can stop the King of Shadows, and we must.”

“Well aren’t I a special bloody snowflake? I’m no weapon, there’s nothing I could do to harm the King of Shadows in any noticeable way. Please Ammon, give us something to work with.” She stepped toward him and lowering her voice to a whisper, “Help us. What do we do next?”

Ammon looked back into the fire, choosing not to answer right away.

“We need to re-forge the sword, and gather as big an army as we can before it is too late. I can help you with the first task, though your meddling in the Haven destroyed any hope of me aiding with the latter.”

She could feel her face growing hot as she struggled not to lose her temper, “What the fuck were you going to do, raise another demon army? Your last one killed more innocent civilians in the Mere than it did Shadow thralls! And for what? To lock him up for a couple of decades? Tell me Ammon, was that really worth all that death and destruction? Decades of imprisonment in the Hells?”

“Yes. Yes it was you foolish girl.  I did what I had to, to save Neverwinter. I sacrificed _everything_ to defeat the King of Shadows all those years ago.” He took a step toward and jabbed a tattooed finger into her chest. “And so must you, if we are to finish him for good this time. You still think you can win this and keep your friends, allies or even your morals intact. Just run into battle full of bravado and sheer luck, and save the day? Well you _can’t._   Your thick-headedness and naivety killed Shandra. I pray you find some sense before it kills us all.”

“Don’t y-“

“Captain Farlong?”

A dishevelled Nevalle stepped curtly in between them, cutting off her reply. “Captain, I’m sorry to interrupt, but as you no doubt have already heard, Fort Locke has fallen. You’re to report to Castle Never at once. Your companions are to wait here. ”

“Go alone? Why?”

Nevalle raised a single eyebrow, “These are Lord Nasher’s wishes, and his request cannot wait in these grave times. Now please, make haste.”

Ammon wrinkled his nose dispassionately at Nevalle. On any other person, the gesture would look comical, but on the heavily tattooed Warlock it looked downright menacing. Nevalle scowled back at him, unperturbed by his strange appearance. She was impressed. So Nevalle had a pair of balls after all, interesting.

Ammon grabbed her forearm as she turned to leave, “You must beg your Lord for more resources, as many as he can give. The King of Shadows will command an army of undead, impossible to number. The more men we have, the more likely it will be that we prevail. I shall stay here and research the sword of Gith further. We must act quickly if we are to have a chance at this.”

She nodded briskly, “Understood.”

 

 

Neverwinter’s army would arrive at the Keep within the week. And although there was a sense of relief that another task had been completed, the reality of the upcoming battle was becoming all-consuming. She felt like a frog in a boiling pan that was getting hotter by the second.  

Lord Nasher had tried to induct her into one of the Nine as some kind of reward for her efforts, but she’d declined it, stating Knight Captain was more than enough. Nasher hadn’t been at all pleased at the refusal, but he could go swivel on it as far as she was concerned. Taking on another title with even more responsibilities whilst preparing for war just seemed ludicrous. She’d given enough for Neverwinter already. To spend the rest of her days serving Nasher under some honorary title after all this was over was _not_ an opportunity she relished. After the battle, she’d be taking a life-long vacation, and fuck anyone who thought differently.

Most of her companions had laughed when she assembled them to tell of turning down Nasher’s invitation into the Nine. Neeshka and Khelgar seemed to find it most entertaining, whilst Casavir just gave a customary raising of the eyebrow alongside the usual dour expression when she caught his eye. She briefly considered shooting him a little wink to see how he’d react, but quickly thought the better of it. Still, the sudden mental image of him angrily kissing her for taunting him was a very pleasant one indeed.

Sand especially made a poor show of hiding glee, “Well, well. Nasher gives you all these titles and lands, and you repay him by snubbing his gilded collar. That would have annoyed him greatly. An excellent play Knight-Captain, if I say so myself.”

“You know I’m not one for court politics Sand, not got the brain for it. I just didn’t think that joining the Nine was something I’d be suited for.”

“Be that as it may, the hopeful Savior of Neverwinter irritating Nasher and his court brings me endless joy. And speaking of which, did you know that Sir Nevalle has offered us the choice of what to do with Torio? He seems to think that she may be of some use to us by coming here, provided you don’t want her head?”

“Really? She’s offered to give up information on Garius and his priests? Actually willing to spill the beans on her precious Luskan?”

“Ha, I think she will under the same terms and conditions as I was at the beginning of our adventures together. Assist the cause or face the executioner’s blade, a difficult choice for any sane being, one may add.”

“Heh. Fine, let’s see what she knows. Write to Nasher and have her brought here. This should be interesting. Oh and Sand?”

“Yes my Captain?”

“Do try to be nice to her, won’t you?”

He placed a hand over his heart, and did his best earnest impression, “I swear I’ll be nothing less than thoroughly courteous and polite with dear Torio.”

They’d probably end up killing one another before Garius and his army were even at the Keep gate, she thought privately. But if Torio was willing to talk then she could turn out to be a very useful asset indeed.

 

“If you are ready to talk about more important matters, Knight Captain…”

Ammon Jerro’s gravel-toned condescension grated on her increasingly frayed nerves.

“Apologies that we’re holding you up Jerro. Have you yet managed to come up with a plan to re-forge the sword?”

“Yes. After much researching and debating, the Gith and I have come to an agreement on what is the best way forward. The sword has to re-forged in the exact spot where it was broken. We need to take it to West Harbour and pray that Zhjaeve here has enough knowledge to put the thing back together.”

“I have every faith that Zhjaeve knows what she is doing. And from what we all know, time is quickly running out, so let’s hit the road.”

“It’s likely our enemy will sense our presence once we arrive in West Harbour. We-“

“Then we’ll kick their fucking heads in and run like hell, does that sound like a good plan?”

  Neeshka snorted loudly, “Ha! If that’s our plan then I’m so happy that I’m a fast runner. Bagsy going through the portal behind the Paladin, he can’t run that fast in full plate so he’ll be shadow chow well before me!”

“Listen Demon, as much I as like the thought of the Paladin getting eaten alive by Undead, you’re backing the wrong escape goat.” Bishop smirked cruelly while slapping Grobnar on the shoulder. “Your chance has come Grobnar, time to become the arrow bait you were destined to be! You know it’s for the greater good.”

Sarina bit hard on her bottom lip to keep from laughing, but it was a close thing. “No one’s going to get ‘Undead-ed’ or become arrow bait. We just get in there, re-forge the sword and get the hell out. Happy?”

“Ecstatic, Princess.”

At least Grobnar look relieved to know he wasn’t going be used as bait.

 

 

West Harbour was darker than night, although it was only midday. The grass and trees were brown and curling. The sense of evil permeating the very air was even stronger than the last time. It settled in heavily over the smell of rot and burnt wood. It broke her heart all over again to see her birth village so thoroughly ravaged and its remains tainted. The image searing itself again onto her mind for future nightmares. She took a deep breath to try to calm herself, and concentrate on the task at hand.

“It is here.” Zhjaeve announced suddenly, standing in the centre of the village.

“This is probably a stupid question, but why does the blade have to be re-assembled here? Instead of at a Blacksmith’s like a normal weapon?”

The Gith paused, probably realising she was asking questions just to take her mind away from the sight. Zhjaeve was perceptive above all else.

“The reasons are twinned. The scar on the land, your village, still holds some of the blade's strength. But the scar is also in the domain of the King of Shadows. In remaking the sword in such a place, it gives the blade a taste of our enemy. Once Gith's blade has tasted the essence of a foe, it never rests until its enemy lays dead before its master.”

“That makes sense.”

It really didn’t, but it was nice to hear all the same.

“Sit with me. Listen to my voice, grasp the hilt - and close your eyes.”

 

 

The sword gleamed with a magic she’d never seen before. It seemed to pierce through darkness surrounding them with an ethereal light. She felt giddy at the sight of it, just holding it aloft gave her a confidence and a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt previously. The power from it pulsed through her arm and into her chest, and there it formed a bond she could physically feel within her.

Everything felt like it was finally falling into place, and for the first time she felt like a somewhat worthy threat to the King of Shadows.

“It’s incredible, Zhjaeve. It worked, you really did it!”

“It was your will that reformed the blade. Only for you will the sword live. No longer do you carry the Heart of the Sword. Truly, now, you are its Heart.”

“The... power from this blade…”

“That is not the power from the blade you feel. It is your own strength focused in the blade itself.”

“It has a mind of its own?”

“No. And yes… in a way.”

The Gith reeled suddenly, grasping her Quarterstaff and wielding it defensively, as she scanned the surrounding ruins.

“Prepare yourself Kalach-Cha, something has come.”

They scanned the burnt own houses frantically, the other companions joining them to search for the danger.

_“How does it feel to be back home Shardbearer?”_

Sarina froze. That voice. It couldn’t be, she’d killed him, watched his body be thrown onto the other priests corpses on the pyre outside Crossroad Keep. _Garius._

She jumped and tried desperately not to scream when he materialised before them. His body at least, was still certainly dead; his face had burned away to reveal  gleaming white bone, while the powerful magic that kept him re-animated swirled around with a visible aura. Eyeless black sockets stared unblinkingly at her, then down to the sword in her shaking hand.

“Why, is that the famed blade? It seems so fragile… and little use without you to hold it together.”

“I think you will find its edge more than a match for shadow and mere words. Will you test it, thrall of shadows?” Zhjaeve asked.

“My master does not fear a poorly-forged blade... nor a poorly-forged hero.”

The anger wove through her panic, making the sword shake even harder in her hand. “Oh, but he will fear it.”

 


End file.
